Quadruple Quartet
by Stormbreaker99
Summary: The Torque family runs a multi-kingdom corporation—much like Schnee Dust—except, you know, less stuck up and more kid friendly. The owner's children are a set of quadruplets, each with their quirks, but all with the drive to become world-class hunters and huntress. Follow these 'clones' as they enter Beacon, form teams, and face against Remnant's many dangers.
1. Mistral Doughnuts

**Hello everyone and welcome to my first RWBY fanfic! :) I've recently gotten back into the show, and with the onset of volume 3, I thought it would be an excellent idea to take a go at the world of Remnant. You might have seen me over in the SAO community. To those fans, I'm not abandoning "Band of Brothers." xD I'm simply trying something new.  
**

 **Anyways, without further ado: I give you the first chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY or the canon characters associated with it. They are owned by Monty Oum (RIP) and RoosterTeeth. I only own the OCs I have created, and even then, they reside in someone else's universe.**

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 **Mistral Doughnuts**

This story starts, like most stories, on an average day. There was nothing particularly interesting about the day; it was cold, it was chilly, and as familiar to most Mistral dwellers, the wind was blowing at a nearly constant rate. It battered the windows and walls, and reached out across the street to sting the cheeks of a particular young Hunter, fresh from Haven Academy and only two years into life outside of a regulated school wall.

The young man hunched up in his grape-colored vest, a line of thick fur surrounding the collar. It provided an ample defense against the cold when it blew from the side, but it didn't do much when the air decided to go full force directly in the face. His nose was a tomato red that shone like a lightbulb against his pale face, almost green and sickly. Yet, to anyone who knew him, the shaggy, purple-haired mop that was his head somehow managed to keep him warm, long as he kept the dome encircled around his crown—or so he claimed.

His bottom half was actually in better shape. The purple combat trousers acted as a great buffer against the freeze. An interweave consisting of a metallic net, thin twine-like strings designed in a grid, stuck between an extremely smooth silk and tough leather kept the heat within his thighs. A single stripe of dark red ran down the outer side of his left leg, fusing with magenta boots. There was a small blotch of dirt that sorta stuck out, though he hoped nobody noticed.

Heading towards the towering skyscraper in front of him, the Hunter paused for a moment to raise his head up the eighty story building. This was Torque Towers, a symbol of strength within Mistral. Its emblem of dominance, a cursive T in the center of a golden circle and surrounded by two crashing waves, slamming into each other and then rebounding in a crescent the other way, shone at the top. The funny thing was, he knew who designed that, and it was kinda cool to see it standing proudly above the clouds.

The man walked towards the security checkpoint past the front door. He waved hello to an officer dressed very similarly like him. The only difference was instead of a purple undershirt of stretchy polymer, the other had a _black_ undershirt of stretchy polymer.

"Hey Dimitryus," said the officer, "How's your day? I'm gonna need your vest."

"My nose is still red," the Hunter answered with a laugh. He handed over the item, and leaned on the counter where his friend, a male around his age with a neat military crew cut, manned the security booth. "So I'm guessing it's pretty good."

"Have you tried wearing a hoodie?" A responding giggle came from a female officer a station down. Apparently _she_ thought it was hilarious that his red-nosed friend was freezing to death. "What? It's a good idea!"

"I keep telling you guys," Dimitriyus chuckled lightly, "the hair keeps everything fine. It's like an extra blanket up there."

"Sure it does. Now your ID." His friend snorted in disbelief.

Dimitryus offered out his card, and the officer swiped it on the computer monitor in front of him, scanning the barcode for a match. He meticulously looked over the picture, compared it to the face in front of him, and read the name out loud. "Dimitryus Vudkar, is that your name?"

"Yes it is Terrance. And it's Vud—like mud except with a V—not Vood." He rolled his light purple eyes and annoyance peaked through the smile. "Seriously dude, we do this everyday I come in for work. You should know me by now."

"Sorry," Terrance apologized. He returned the card and waved Dimitry through the dust detector. "Security regulations has stepped up since the White Fangs began attacking Schnee dust. Commander Zion wants everything checked. Now in you go. Any dust that needs to be declared?"

"Ugh, fine. I can't blame him I guess. Everything's getting all intense lately." The laid back Hunter nodded and proceeded forwards as he was told. The dust detector was like a normal metal detector, except for the additional micro scan for dust particles, whether powder or solid, within weapons and clothing. They could never be too careful.

"I declare the dust in my weapons. You know, the one I've shown to you, _everyday_?"

"Cut the sarcasm Dimitry," the female from before hollered over at him. "And cut my brother some slack. He's just doing his job."

"Right right, sorry Terra!" He inclined his head and laughed nervously. Couldn't argue with that. "Next time, I'll give you an entire report!"

"Shut up, Dimitry!"

Purple hair shook with mirth, and he looked over at Terrance. His friend examined the readings for a few seconds before nodding. "The usual numbers. You're good to go, bud. Oh, and make sure to check the employee room. I heard someone bought doughnuts."

"Maybe later," Dimitry answered.

He waved farewell and reached over to the conveyor belt to grab his vest. Dusting it a few times Dimitry stepped up to the second checkpoint; this time, instead of his clothing, his weapons were asked for. This was actually part of company protocol. Every Hunter needed his weapons in top condition. It didn't hurt either when free repairs come from the armory too—oh, and upgrades! Dimitry wondered if he was due for another diagnostic. His Bacchus Boon gauntlets haven't been amply enhanced since his last mission.

"Run a thorough check," he advised the officer. "Make sure that dust hydraulic is working. I've been having issues with control. See if that's the problem." With that, he headed to the last checkpoint where a floating metallic orb greeted him.

"Hey, hey! What's up Marie? Long time no see!"

The green eyepiece at the center of the drone blinked twice in affirmation. A voice emanated from its top speaker, and the quad lasers, two on each side, wiggled. "Dimitry! How'd you know it was me today? I could've been assigned to the civilian lane."

"You paint your Ess-Eee green with a yellow star." He pointed out the obvious color choice that covered the right cannons. "Nobody else does that."

"Aww, that's so sweet of you to notice!" The girl who manned the machine squealed from behind her monitor, situated ten floors up. She, with the rest of the SE Overwatch team—or teams since there were sixteen of them—ran the bots that kept an "eye" over all of the building. It was pretty boring work and comparable to watching images on a camera, but sometimes, a nice person happened along and complimented her on her color scheme.

"Did you try the doughnuts? Mine's strawberry filled! Ooh, it's so good!"

"Haha, bet it is. I'll have to get one later. Commander wants me to meet him though. Make sure to save me one."

He spread out his arms and waited as the machine emitted a green light, an optic scanned that once again looked for trace amounts of dust as well as other secret evil weapons he may have hidden away. With the folding technology found in Remnant, anything could be used to kill people. After the initial scan, another occurred; the bot zoomed in on his eyes to check his retina. This was by far the worst one in his opinion.

"All done!" Marie said through her robotic mouthpiece. "And sure! Good luck with the Commander. I saw him today. He looked pretty stressed out. Best not to push his buttons."

"I think I know why," Dimitry answered knowingly. He winked at the eyepiece as his friend let him through. With one last wave, he was finally free to walk across the pristine silver-gray walls of the Torque Towers lobby. He stuck his hand into his pockets, approaching the elevator at a casual stroll. Pushing the up button, he waited for his turn. The box soon arrived, and he had to laugh at the colorful emblem that adorned its surface.

"Ah, Tina," he said, wiping a tear from his face. "This is why your dad is so stressed." Right in front of him, in colors of blue, seafoam green, and varying shades of teal and turquoise, was the the Torque-T. The only major difference was the dark blue dolphin that curved around the top.

"How does he deal with you four?"

"He doesn't," an amiable voice answered him. The elevator doors slid open to reveal a young man with flat, cerulean hair that came down around his head and created a short v-shaped peak at the center of his forehead down to the bridge of his nose. He shook his hair and blew loose strands out of the way. "I'm sure he's noticed by now, but if there's one thing dad's good at, it's letting Tina do her art. Though I must say, the dolphin is excessive."

"Even by _your_ standards?" Dimitry smirked and poked the younger fellow in the chest. He stepped in and pressed number seventy-five.

"Even by mine." There was a laugh, and a few moments of companionable silence overtook them. That was until the boy offered him a cardboard box, the top one of three, he held in his hands. "Doughnuts?"

"Hell, why not?"

The Hunter rolled his eyes and selected a delectable looking one, iced over with pink and dotted with rainbow sprinkles. He never told anyone, but sweets were his one mighty weakness. He just resisted since it messed up with his workout routine.

"Thanks, Tommy," he said to the kid and munched down. "Wow, that's actually pretty good. Who got these? And where? Did Mistral suddenly have delicious food?"

"Oh come on," Tommy said with fake hurt. "I'll have you know that I make amazing peanut butter and jam sandwiches."

"Really? I thought Tina did!" Dimitry clutched his head dramatically. "I've been lied to."

"Yes you have. And it was Ted. He used dad's money to buy a bunch of doughnuts. I'm sure you've heard by now. All the workers are getting some when they have free time, even you bigshot agents."

"You're hilarious." The man rolled his eyes and smirked teasingly. He watched the numbers climb as the elevator worked its way upwards. "So where are you headed? Weren't you just up there?"

"Yep!" Tommy answered. He went quiet as the doors opened to greet another worker. "Hey, uh… Thoron, was it?" The new person nodded with a kind smile. "Care for a doughnut?"

"I'd love one." There was another happy munch to Tommy's ecstatic ears, and he watched with giddy joy. Another person had eaten his doughnuts! Awesome! Oooh, he knew this would make people smile.

"Okay, what's going on here, Tommy?" Dimitry pressed. He definitely didn't miss the wide grin. "Those things aren't layered with explosive dust, are they?"

"No no! They're genuine, even if Ted was the one to get them. No, I'm just going up and down the elevator and offering people food. The rest I have stacked up in my room. Ted couldn't fit them all in his."

The teen chuckled, remembering how his brother had rapped his door on the seventy-sixth floor and brandished the boxes upon boxes of doughnuts like they were Christmas presents. He had opened his arms and wiggled them in comedic excitement when he pointed out the two carts of doughnuts he had brought up stairs, stacked to the rim with boxes.

"How much did you buy?" the Hunter asked incredulously, "That's like… a lot!"

"Enough to give every worker three," he recalled. "And our dad gets two dozen. Haha, don't tell him that. That's a surprise." Another _ding!_ and more people got on. Tommy's face lit up; immediately, he offered out more doughnuts.

Dimitry was aghast. Holy cow. He knew that the kids were rich, loaded even, but he didn't know they had spare money to just go and _buy_ hundreds of doughnuts at will. Seriously, what was their allowance? Sure, having your dad own a major international security company gave you privileges, but this—this was mad! His childhood was never this good.

The man felt a twinge of jealousy take over his chest. Quickly, he banished it away.

It wasn't like the kid was being all arrogant about it. In fact, the Torque Quadruplets—as they were called as a whole by everyone in the company—were by far the nicest, and best rich kids he's ever met; and he's met the Schnee's once at one of their parties. Torque Securities (that's the company by the way) had been hired for a routine assignment, and Dimitry personally escorted their snotty daughter, Weiss, around. Man, she was so annoying.

"Alright, I'm afraid to ask," he began when they finally reached the seventieth floor with yet another batch of people getting on the elevator. By now, Tommy almost ran out of doughnuts. "Where are the other three?"

"Well let's see." Tommy frowned and tried to remember where he last saw his clones. "Ted was in his room counting up the boxes again. He wanted to make sure everyone had enough. Tyson was up in the training room practicing, and Tina was in her room. She's working on a new motto for the company while simultaneously trying to learn oragami."

"Really?" Dimitry asked. Wow, he thought they would all be out and about. "What's wrong with our old one?"

"Dad thinks it's a little bland."

Tommy dropped the now empty boxes of doughnuts as they finally reached floor seventy-five. He brushed crumbs off his white buttoned shirt; some of the pieces were attached to the raised collar around his neck. Frowning, he also noticed that the cerulean edges, which matched his eyes, were slightly wrinkled and even his cuffs appeared messy.

Nuts, he should've changed outfits.

At least his trousers were still good. They were the same ones that Dimitry wore, except colored white with a cerulean stripe running down the side. A thin sash—guess what color?—adorned his hip with the loose end showing the Torque tidal wave. His shirt was tucked into his pants and held up by a white belt that was hidden under the velvet piece, the official sign of his office at Torque Securities. Each of the quadruplets wore a sash, colored differently of course, that announced their position within the company. Plus, it was hella stylish.

But don't tell anyone he thinks that.

"In my opinion though," Tommy continued, "It is pretty old. 'Security for the ages.' Doesn't roll off the tongue anymore. That's why Tina's putting her creative skills to the test."

"Well, if you want _my_ opinion," the Hunter agreed, "It _is_ pretty lame. Just don't tell your father that."

The teen laughed and nodded. He made an X over his heart to make the solemn promise between men. "I promise. Anyways, I'll see you around Dimitry. I've got to grab more boxes."

"Alright, I'll see ya. Don't overdo it, or else the others will grow large. Wouldn't want to slow them down!" He laughed and exited the elevator, watching the teen give a thumbsup. Then the colorful dolphin descended downwards and reminded him why he was here. Straightening his vest, Dimitry made his way across the room where computer screens and open air desks formed rows. Finally at the back, he knocked on a wooden door.

"Dimitryus Vudkar, sir," he announced, a bit nervously. This was going to be the second time he was face to face with the owner and commander of Torque Securities. The first was when he saw him through a video message, asking him follow a simple set of instructions. Now he was here to tell the big guy that he had done as he was asked.

There were all sorts of rumors that floated around about Zion Torque. Some said he was eccentric; others said he was stern and demanding. And still some, like his children, said he was a big softie who knew when to joke and laugh. Dimitry didn't know which one was true, but he really hoped it was the second one. He wasn't looking to get fired today for something stupid he let slip from his mouth.

"You may all leave now," the man inside said, and the shuffling of feet, papers, and other devices, could be heard. Dimitry swallowed and moved out of the way as a bunch of technicians, analysts and other smart people exited in bunched up groups. A few were whispering to each other, giving him cursory looks, and one even seemed dead tired; the female leaned hard against her friend.

"Come in," said a deep voice, dry and nearly humorless to his ears. He nodded a few times and entered the office.

It was an expansive room, and every wall was a floor to ceiling one-way mirror of clear, crystalline glass. On the right was a rectangular mahogany desk where folders, papers, and other important document resided in neat stacks. There was a closed laptop charging next to it, and set of white fluorescent lights were embedded above in the ceiling. In front of the desk, in the middle of the room, was a long oval meeting desk with about a dozen and a half wheeled chairs pushed respectfully in. There were additional smaller tablets spread out evenly around the circumference. At the head of the table sat Commander Zion, face in his hands and a mighty yawn on his lips.

"Oh my," he said in a muffled voice, "I'm sorry Dimitryus, but I'm so terribly tired. With all of this White Fang business, and the threat of Grimm at different borders, I've barely had time to nap."

He straightened out and then stood up, a smile creasing his face. "But where are my manners? Nice to meet you in person." Offering a hand, the stunned Hunter quickly took it.

"The pleasure's all mine, sir."

"Enough with the sir," Zion said quickly. "Zion or Commander is fine. I've had enough of pleasantries from the peanut gallery. The outreach department is probably the worst."

He rolled his eyes and straightened out his turquoise trimmed, white steampunk-styled long coat. It had a Gothic long tail that ran to the back of his legs and matched with his trousers of similar color. A row of five gold buttons ran down his torso and connected the cloth design underneath the two lapels. His shoulders were slim and fit, showing the powerful physical condition that the man was in, minus the stress. His feet conforming sneakers, lightweight and agile, matched the color scheme of his top.

Presently, his weapon of choice, the Eagle Wing, a folded up fan for all Dimitry could see, was slung on his back. The guy winced at such an uncomfortable position, yet the Commander seemed perfectly at ease. He now unbuttoned his coat and sat back down.

"Ahh," Zion groaned. He shook his head. "I thought that would feel better, but apparently not. Now, sit Dimitry, sit. Don't stand there gaping." Chuckling a bit, the six foot ten boss ran a hand through his turquoise trimmed hair, dulled by streaks of gray. "Did you do what I told you?"

Dimitry instantly nodded. He sat down and pulled out a vanilla envelope of considerable size from within his vest. Yet as the commander watched, he saw a stiffness to the boy's back that was uncalled for. And he thought _he_ was stressed.

"Commander," the Hunter began, "This what I gathered from my trip to Vale. Everything was completed per your request. It seems that the return was also very quick. I didn't actually expect that."

He slid the envelope over to where Zion could reach it. The word Torque was written in cursive on the front, and on the back was a seal; a pair of crossing axes and laurel leaves was covered over by a name that was famous for creating the best Hunters and Huntresses in all of Remnant.

Beacon Academy.

"Thank you, Dimitry. How did my old friend Ozpin take the news?"

Inside the envelope were four identical looking, smaller, white envelopes with the same cursive writing in the front. The names of his children, Tyson, Tommy, Ted, and Tina, stared back at him in silent apprehension. There was a fifth envelope that had his name, and he opened it up to read the contents. Every now and again, he would nod his head, smirk, or otherwise drum his fingers on the table. Finally, as if it was the most important thing to do, Zion scratched at the seal in the back, seeing if it was smelly or not.

Unfortunately, it was not.

Sigh. What a shame.

"I actually didn't talk to Ozpin. He couldn't make it, so instead, I got a nice little chat with Glynda Goodwitch." Dimitry chuckled and his eyes tilted up in memory. "It was a fun little chat, though I don't think she liked me very much."

"Don't tell me you tried to flirt with her." Zion looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Glynda isn't one to take such comments so easily. Tell me you didn't cause a ruckus. We still have a reputation as a company to uphold."

"W-what? No no. I said one comment, and… that was that. No problem at all. She took it rather well, actually. You should've seen her blush."

"You should have seen _you_ blush." The commander chuckled as a very deep scarlet hue rose to the cheeks of his subordinate, matching the color of his nose so much that he was now simply a red, beating tomato.

"Just now—you looked like Ted after asking another girl out. That kid, he does _not_ know when to stop." There was a sigh and a head shake. At this rate, his wife would have to start readying their wedding outfits. That young one had dated at _least_ ten girls the past month, and Tommy said that wasn't even record.

Zion didn't _want_ to know what the record was.

"Oh, haha. Well I wouldn't say it was like that. I like to think I'm a bit more… keen than Ted."

"Let's hope so. Go on, what then? I want a detailed sitrep."

"Nothing else. Glynda—"

"—I _think_ that's Professor to you," Zion teased. A merry twinkle danced in his eyes. "Okay okay. I'm sorry. Go on." He returned to reading the response from Ozpin to his own letter he sent a few weeks back.

Unfortunately, Dimitry really couldn't go on. Several times in the past couple minutes, a man whom he was completely nervous about meeting, had not only cracked jokes, casually talked about flirting, but was now _apologizing_ to him?

He knew that his record was good—he never missed a day of work, completed all assignments efficiently, and had zero casualties so far (knock on wood)—but to be treated with such respect from the top man? That was practically unheard of. Companies of this size shouldn't have bosses with such friendly faces. In fact, he should be peeing his pants right now, but somehow, he felt the calmest he's felt since becoming a Hunter.

"Uh… right. I… uh… sorry, I lost my train of thought there." The purple-haired man laughed and shook his head to clear away all the anxiety he had. He was a Hunter after all. He couldn't just get nervous when superstition and stories filled his head. "I got a tour of the school just like you asked, and yes, before you laugh, it was from Glynda."

"My my, I wasn't going to laugh. Mighty lucky of you. Continue."

"Well, everything looks good on the outside. There's a long avenue from the airship dropout zone to the school, pretty far stretch that does appear to be too open. I'm sure they can make it defensible, but I don't like the way there's direct line of sight to the building."

Dimitry was now talking in his serious tone, the one he used when debriefing his team members on their missions. As head of team DINO, he took great responsibility in learning his environment. This was another company requirement. Security meant defense, and you couldn't have good defense without knowing the terrain. From the sound of things, there appeared to be a straight path down which enemies could march.

"There's lots of green space, and the setup is like that of concentric rings. There are several ponds that ring the building with paths along them. Plenty of night light, of course, which is very lucky. Spires and arches are the main architectural style, and everything past the water has plenty of cover. I also got to explore the Emerald Forest—plenty of stray Grimm—and the Beacon Cliffs. That's where the students begin initiation."

"What occurs during initiation?"

"They," Dimitry said slowly, wondering how he was going to break the news to a caring father. Best if he ripped the bandage of nice and quick. "They get launched out from pads and sent flying into the forest."

"Where the Grimm are?"

"Uh… yes… exactly where they Grimm are."

Zion raised his other eyebrow and chuckled. "My children aren't saplings, Dimitryus. They can handle themselves, though I appreciate the rapid way you said that last part. Almost didn't catch it. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, Commander. There's a port too, so I'm guessing naval travel is allowed."

"Have you checked it out? How wide? Can, say, an entire armada of White Fangs enter to slaughter the children?"

"Uh…" Wow, what a blunt, yet sarcastic question. He didn't know how to answer that. "I… don't think so sir. Maybe one or two ships at most, and I'm sure it's heavily watched." There was the worried father that he was looking for. It wasn't going to be easy sending your kids away from home.

"I'm sorry," Zion sighed and ran another hand through his hair. He looked steadily at Dimitry. "You'll understand when you have kids. I wanted them to go to a good school, and Ozpin has this… way about him that I like a bit more than the Haven teachers. I just can't seem to shake the feeling that something is bound to happen when those kids go gallivanting into Vale."

"I'm sure they'll be just fine sir. There are hunters all over to protect them."

"I know, I know. Please go on. Tell me about the insides."

"Yes Commander. The mess hall appears fine. There's plenty of space to eat, airy, and with lots of lighting. Classrooms are standard seminar-styled rooms with tiered seating. There's also an amphitheater which doubles as mission center and dueling arena, a ballroom, and the usual conveniences for all schools. Particularly interesting though, now that I remember, is the CCT. Big tower right on campus. The quadruplets can easily call you from there."

He recalled the area after asking Glynda about it. He even got an inside tour, but it was just like your average comm towers. Nothing too different from those he was sure Zion had seen.

"And the dorms?" At this, the commander set aside the letter he's read over twice already and fully focused on Dimitry. This was the biggest concern he had out of everything. He was certain the school had defensive capabilities, else it would be a pretty cruddy school. He was also sure that the kids could find a way to set up the usual security measures for themselves: motion sensors, SE drones, and the likes.

What he wasn't sure about was the situation of the rooms.

"Are they co-ed?" he asked, wanting to hear from the horse's mouth the dire situation of things.

Dimitry seemed to get the hint and tried to contain his laughter since he knew that, yes, yes they were. That was all Zion needed to slump wearily into his chair.

"I'm going to need a day off after this…" Sighing once again, the Torque glared at the acceptance letters within their envelopes. Great, and he had specifically asked Ozpin for that favor too. Just great. "So I'm going to have to worry about Ted again, aren't I?"

"I'm sure he knows how to control himself," Dimitry said with a choke of laughter bubbling in his throat. There was clear uncertainty in the boss' eyes. "Okay, perhaps you should give him a stern warning."

"I'll certainly do that. Good grief. Is there any other news I should worry about, or can I go get myself a doughnut? And yes, I know who bought them, that little rascal." The exhausted adult stood up, and the Hunter quickly did the same.

"There's nothing else, Commander. All forms are in order, passports for the transfer, boarding, and payment is all taken care of. I have the paper receipt attached for you in the envelope. It should detail everything. Your children are ready to go to Beacon."

"Thank you Dimitry," Zion replied, holding out a hand. He firmly gripped the purple-haired man with a proud nod. "Thank you for doing this. Did you also do the other thing I asked you?"

"Yes. Your brother talked to me. He's got everything set up at Signal. I start tomorrow."

"Good. Then good luck to you, my friend. Remember, once a week."

"Of course. Once a week."

With a final nod and shake of their hands, Dimitry left the office. He breathed out carefully and smiled. That went a whole lot better than he expected. Chalk that up for another successful mission. The man with the purple hair and purple outfit retreated back across the aisle and towards the elevator door. His thumb pressed the down button, and in a minute, the familiar dolphin rose up from the earth. The smile widened as he got back on, punching in the G button to go all the way back down.

From there, he would take a separate stairway, pass through three more checkpoints, before descending into the armory and basement, as well as the pool and other recreational training areas. He approached the secretary at the desk, got her to release his freshly repaired weapons, and then grabbed his gear, a purple and red backpack that he had packed the other night.

Then, with a smile and a wave to his friends, Dimitry exited Torque Towers. Taking one last look at the mighty T and tidal waves, he bit into a sugar doughnut and glanced at the building. The sweet clump slid down his throat as a thought struck him. It would be a while before he could see it again, feel the sting of the Mistral wind, and breathe the crisp afternoon air. Saluting forlornly, he turned his back to the company and to the kingdom he called his home.

He really would miss this ice ball.

Him and the rest of his team.

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 **Well? How'd you guys like it? :3**

 ** **This is the first chapter of a two part prologue. I will be trying to follow closely the world that Monty Oum so arduously created. Although this fanfic is OC-centric, canon characters will make appearances, and quite often too. Anyways, I**** **hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review!**


	2. Leaving the Nest

**Hey guys, and here's chapter two! I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY or the world of Remnant. They belong to Monty Oum (RIP) and RoosterTeeth. I simply own my OCs, and even they are in a borrowed universe.**

* * *

 **Leaving the Nest**

Siblings, as everyone is well aware, are quite possibly the worst thing to ever happen to a child. They are annoying, stubborn, nosy, and all in all bratty losers who can't seem to leave their brother or sister alone. In any household with more than one child, the sibling dilemma was the biggest issue when it came to peace and quiet. Things only got infinitely worse when you happened to have three other siblings—seeing as how one just _wasn't_ enough. Then of course, as if the original pains of humanity could not get enough of that one poor child, destiny had to make those three siblings identical brothers whose only major physical difference was the color of their hair and eyes.

So rest and relaxation only came once in a millennia, and Tina Torque deemed that she had to make the best of it. With Tommy caringly riding the elevators up and down to deliver doughnuts like some overjoyed Santa Claus, and Ted hiding away in his room counting said abundant boxes of doughnuts, the only girl out of the quadruplets felt that today was her lucky day. Tyson was off in another one of his intense training sessions, and that left her with a silence she had not enjoyed since two weeks ago.

Currently, Tina was up on the seventy-sixth floor of Torque Towers, the residential penthouse suite area that was her family's living quarters. The living room was devoid of boys, and the radio was playing sweet orchestral music. Soothing notes floated around the oval space and along its floor to ceiling one-way windows, specifically reinforced against bullets and nasty explosives. The balcony doors were open, and the girl had sprawled herself on her stomach, lying on top of a cushioned lounge chair. In front of her was a small table, about knee height, where a stack of pencils, a notepad, a phone-scroll, a baton, a few origami cranes and an empty cup with dolphin designs sat contently. An unstrung bow leaned nearby against the rail.

While it was her day off, she wasn't one to pass up a creative challenge. Her father wanted a new motto for the next board meeting with the outreach program. Though Torque Securities was already technically multi-kingdom, things got iffy when it came to crossing borders; passports, credentials, and other terms she didn't want to remember right now placed strict control on what the company could do. Self-image was definitely important if there father was to expand outwards.

That meant having a catchy phrase that everyone could remember, and Tina was the most creative of the four. Well, maybe of the whole family. Her father really wasn't trying in her opinion; he hated the details that their mother loved to delve into. Commander Zion was a man of action, not pens and signatures and documents.

A sigh escaped the girl as she stared intently at the words scrawled in her notebook, biting a strand of her zaffre blue hair. Today she had decided on a braid, letting bangs fall across her face. Her slim nose wiggled in concentration, and she tried to draw forth words hidden deep within her brain. A chilly breeze blew across her, ruffling her favorite sequin, shorty, A-line cheongsam dress with the embroidered sea mammal that so matched the design on the elevator and the color of her electric blue eyes. She smoothed the bottom of her piece out, the blue barely reaching her knees. Although there was no one else around, a pink blush colored her cheeks.

"Stupid wind," Tina muttered and glanced at the baton that lay on the desk. Resisting the urge, she shook her head and kicked her light skinned feet back and forth. She wiggled her toes frustratedly. "I can't seem to think of _anything_ right now. Blech, this is so dumb. None of these sound good. Why can't I get inspired?"

The response to her question was not one that she expected. It came from a cheery voice over her right shoulder and emphasized by the sliding bang of the screen door. "Because you're a flying lantern that has no candle." Ted bounced down on the second chair next to hers and kicked out his feet, rudely displaying his dirty appendages directly in her face. "What up, sis?"

"Ted!" she shrieked and instantly batted those disgusting things away with a softly manicured hand. Tina sat up with a glare in her eyes. "Must you _always_ ruin my peace and quiet?"

"There was nothing peaceful about you just now," the nearly identical quadruplet said to his female clone. Everything was literally the same except for the slightly more angular nature of her face, the eye color and the hair. Beyond that, they were the same. Well, she was more prissy in his official, doctoral opinion. "Don't you know that thinking is a dangerous pastime?"

"You should know," she muttered and gathered up all of her belongings in a neat pile, sticking the pencil and notepad into a crescent bag that she had been laying on. The phone, however, remained on the table, same with the baton. She glanced at the device before returning her attention to Ted.

"You hardly ever think," she retorted. "What are you doing here anyways? Did you finish counting all those doughnuts you stole?"

"Stole? I'm shocked, sister!" Ted made a gasping noise and faked a swoon. He stuck out his tongue like a dead cow. "And for your information, I did finish counting. Once the next lunch shift occurs, I'm going down there to deliver my presents to humanity."

"A present to humanity would be you washing your feet. When was the last time you showered?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he responded cheekily. His cyan eyes winked charmingly at her, a charm that would usually work on most girls, but had quite the opposite effect on his sister. She rolled her eyes and stood up. "Hey! Come on, sis, I didn't mean it! Honest! I showered last night!"

"Then explain your feet. They are gross." She crossed her arms and impatiently tapped her toes as she awaited his excuse. Right then and there, Tina looked exactly like their mother. "Have you been running about the company all day?"

"Haha, maybe?" Ted nervously answered, running a matching skin colored hand through his azure hair, shiny and spiked like the stylish looks of the latest Mistral celebrities. "Someone's gotta run around delivering the doughnuts. Tommy was on elevator duty, and before you ask, he chose it—not me. Besides, I was doing humanitarian work." He huffed dramatically.

The phone buzzed, and the older sister immediately lunged for it. She curled up and slid open the device to reveal its holographic display, typing back a swift response to a text message. Oho! Ted's eyes sure did light up when he saw that action. It seems like his suspicions have been handily confirmed.

"How about you? What were _you_ up to sis?" At that, he winked again and wiggled his eyebrows. "Is that the Havenite? I'm hearing all _sorts_ of conspiracy theories. Care to spill the beans, sis?"

Tina gasped and her cheeks exploded into red color. Clenching her fists by her side, the girl pointed a threatening finger at her stupid, annoying, and immature little brother. Three was the lucky number, not four! Urgh, and why Ted? She would've gladly taken either Tyson or Tommy over this bumbling socialite. All the rapscallion needed was one tiny specter of her dating life, and he would tell the entire tower and anyone else in Mistral he felt needed to hear. She couldn't risk that.

"That is _none_ of your business! Keep your nose where it belongs!"

"I'm sorry sis," Ted said, nonchalantly looking at his nails and picking at the cuticle. Another breeze blew against his outfit, one that was almost identical to Tommy yet outlined with azure in all places where the older, second brother had cyan. "But as my older, yet more lowly duplicate, I demand all the details to this secret relationship you've been keeping from our dear, _dear_ parents."

"Ted, please. Don't do that. Come on, I never squeal about your relationships." It was true. Not once did she peep.

"Yeah, but everyone knows when I'm dating someone. You don't need to 'squeal.'" He made bunny fingers in the air at the word. "I try to make it pretty public."

"And that's why you should keep it a secret," she hissed, urgently scanning the living rooms for sign of a mother or a father. "I don't want it public. It'll be all embarrassing and stuff. Plus, it might scare him off. He's too shy for that."

"Too shy huh? He not one for the limelight?" There was now a devilish glitter to his orbs. Oh yes, this was perfect! Such ammo for his gun of devastation! Blackmail was essential to any good sibling relationship, and this was something he could use. She was so doing all of his chores for the next year. "Maybe I should fix that?"

"Don't you dare."

"Oh, but I'm a daring man."

"Ted, I swear on everything that is holy," the girl began, eyes flaring brightly. She had finished another text and deemed this situation too important to be dealt with later. Tossing the cell on the table, she stood up and glared at her brother. "If you even _attempt_ to do that, I _will_ have your head."

"Tsk," the brave—or cowardly—teen clicked his tongue. "Such language. Does he know you kiss him with that mouth?" He was going to say more when a sudden powerful breeze stole the air from his lips. Soon it was followed by more, friends of an invisible zephyr that seemed to be drawn towards the furious girl.

Wisps of her hair floated in midair, and her eyes had narrowed to dangerous slits. The dress began to light up into a kaleidoscope of green and blue colors. It looked like a mini twister had decided to land on the balcony, swirling around its summoner.

"If you do _not_ drop the subject," Tina said ominously, "I will bury you in rubble!" Her hair flew behind her, casting an eerie light across her once angelic face.

Ted's jaw dropped and instantly, he rolled off his chair, performed a flip and landed back inside the living room where expensive furniture of all kinds lay about. Gulping, he tightly gripped the sword sheathed across his back. Furtive eyes glanced over at the baton on the desk. Thank goodness; she hadn't grabbed it yet. Maybe he was going to be alright after all.

"Aw c-come on sis," he said placatingly and waving his free arm around. "It was a joke, nothing more! A mere jest! Pfft, I would never! Never ever ever _ever_ tell our parents of the super top secret relationship you've been having with that dashing second year at Haven Academy. No way, never! I would never ever ever ever tell them that he wears all black and—"

Ah, crud. Too late Ted slapped a hand over his mouth. Curse his motormouth. This was not part of the blackmail process. He totally screwed that up. One foot inched back as he slowly backed away from the incoming maelstrom.

"You know who he is?! WHY YOU!"

Tina lunged for the baton, and at that moment, Ted knew that he was basically screwed.

"Tina wait! There's furniture!"

"I'M GOING TO END YOU!"

A forceful blast of air rammed directly into the younger Torque, generated from the wand, and he flew across the room. Twisting in the air, he acrobatically landed with his foot flat on the door. He was quite literally standing horizontal as the demonic banshee pinned him under a gale force of air. His cheeks fluttered wildly and so did his eyelids; all of the liquid he held to clear his ocular organs flew away and left behind an arid, cold wasteland. His sister's baton, nicknamed Symphonia, was glowing around its two and a half foot long cylindrical length. The whirlpool design of water and air bubbles shined a bright green, evident of dust that had been embedded in the tough wood.

A lamp crashed next to him and shattered into a bazillion pieces. Ooh, mom is going to be so mad.

"It… was… just… a comment…" Ted struggled to talk against the wind. His voice was drowned out by the battering that occurred on the walls and windows. "Tina… stop…" He tried to tear his arm from its plastered position. He just… needed… to get... his… weapon!

 _Ziing!_

Crystal Whisper ripped from its sheathe, and the jian, with its thirty inch blade and a six inch hilt, emitted a blast of dark blue energy from the tip. It struck Tina and she staggered. Water in the chilly, Mistral wind suddenly froze, encasing her arms and legs in ice. The attack shattered her concentration, and allowed the boy to drop down in a crouch. Swishing his weapon back and forth, he held it up in a ready stance, right arm parallel to the ground, body sideways, and left hand held in a relaxed, open palm.

Ted clicked a button on the octagonal, cyan hilt as the end popped open, dropping an empty dust canister on to the ground. Decorated with crystalline shapes like the ornamental tassel on the butt, Ted loaded another case into the handle. Once filled, the flower-shaped, six-inch-diameter crossguard emitted a light gold glow to match its intricate designs. Thin bladed and wickedly sharp on both sides, the Crystal Whisper sliced through the air a few more times, and the teen beckoned to his sister.

Before the two could explode into glorious combat—Tina having freed herself by cracking the ice with a concentrated beam of hot air from her baton—the door flung open and the angry leer of their mother greeted the two. Mere moments ago, they were mortal enemies; now the siblings turned into unwilling allies. Without thought, they both dropped their weapons to the ground and raised up their hands in surrender.

"It was his fault," Tina said with a finger to Ted.

"It was her fault," Ted said with a finger to Tina.

Their two older brothers were behind their mother, and Tyson and Tommy synchronously facepalmed as Mom approached the two miscreants who had wrecked their living room. She saw the pieces of her favorite lamp shattered on the floor, the cushions of the couch sliced into cotton shreds from vicious wind shears, and saw their television knocked off its stand. Luckily there was no crack in the costly equipment. The bright and actually electric filled eyes—they could see the sparks—that lasered into her children held absolutely no forgiveness for this childish act.

However, for the sake of the big announcement today, she took a deep deep breath and relaxed her grip on the golden baton she had in her hand. There was vacuum silence, and four pairs of eyes trained on their mother. In and out, in and out. It took her five gulps of calming air before she could speak a word that didn't tear right past their earlobes and into their brains. The boys were open mouthed with surprise, and Tina couldn't believe it either.

Today must be their lucky day.

 _Whack! Whack!_

Okay, maybe not.

Yin Guan Torque slapped both of her errant kids over the head with her baton. It felt satisfying to hear such a hard crack on their thick skulls. Grr, sometimes she wondered if Tina really was the lady she wanted her to be. Between squabbling with her siblings, especially Ted, and getting into all sorts of Torque shenanigans, she wondered if _any_ of her lessons got through to the girl.

"Go to your room," was all Yin could manage without whacking both once more on their noggins. She was granted obedience when both children filed out with heads down and metaphorical tails between their legs. It only slightly softened her heart when the other two patted their beaten comrades on the back.

"You'll be fine," Tommy mumbled to Tina.

"You're an idiot," Tyson mumbled to Ted.

When they left the disaster zone, Yin turned to her two other boys, the ones she deemed the current most well behaved, and gestured to the calamity. Her baton twirled expertly, and their canary yellow-eyed mother said, "Thank you for alerting me of this skirmish. I will report this to your father. In the mean time, I'll call up some people to clean this up. Thank you, dears."

She reached out and latched on to the nearest cheek. Unfortunately, it was Tyson's, and he had to deal with a passive-aggressive jerking of his flabby, meaty part. Mother held on a few seconds too long, and that resulted in a slight twitch of the oldest quadruplet's face. He endured the love a bit longer. Then their mom kissed both on the forehead before exiting the living room and calling the elevator. Both boys turned to look at each other at the same time, sigh at the same time and shake their heads at the same time. They didn't have to speak to know what the other was thinking.

Something was on their mom's mind.

Normally she would've ordered the offenders to pick up each and every piece they had trashed. Then she would give them extra training exercises in the morning, and more chores around the tower. Toilet duty wasn't out of the question either. Yet here she was, no actual punishment doled out, and allowing Tina and Ted off the hook.

"That's weird," Tyson said. "It's like mom's mind is occupied or something. When was the last time she let them go like that?"

"Only on birthdays," Tommy agreed. He led them to a broom closet placed conveniently down the hall and distributed one out. He also offered a dustpan and some gloves. The first was accepted; the second denied. "It's not our birthdays is it?"

"Nope. So that's out of the question. Anniversary?"

"Not so soon, no. Holiday?"

"Already?" Tyson shook his head, and they began to sweep up the room in unison. Tommy had taken the area near the balcony. He brushed some ice chunks into the pan and emptied them into a garbage bag he remembered to grab. "That's not it either," the oldest brother decided. "Then maybe we finally wore her thin?"

"That's not our mother." Tommy poked curiously at some carves in the wood of a desk by their couch. The slices looked wire-thin yet ran about three inches deep. Yeesh, Tina must've been ticked. "She would never give up trying to make us into grown men and woman. It's gotta be something else."

"Beats me, dude. I just hope those two dinner bells know how lucky they are."

"Yeah, seriously."

A calm silence soon enveloped them, and conversation faded. The two continued to tidy up; the _skit! skit!_ of the brooms and pans were the only things that made noises. In ten minutes, a three-man janitorial crew arrived up the stairs. They were actually just three of the techies who were on coffee break. Mother had grabbed them in her aggravation. A snap, curt command, and pointed finger was all the motivation needed. The five worked so efficiently that in about half an hour, everything was back in place—of course with a few missing parts.

Generously thanking the three with some doughnuts, Tyson and Tommy then headed back to what they were doing: one still insisting on riding the elevator up and down, and up and down; while the other continued his sweat soaked combat training in the arena on the seventy-ninth floor. Just like his brothers, Tyson wore the same outfit, except his was indigo outlined to match his hair and eyes.

The subject of their mother's strangeness was effectively lost to their minds after a couple of hours. Distracted as they were by the chores they still haven't finished, taking over those that Ted and Tina abandoned (doughnut lunch duty included), there wasn't much energy put into what bothered Mom. They day wore on, and time passed.

It was at dinner time that they all remembered.

* * *

Dinner was always a fun affair in the Torque household. Their dining room and kitchen was up on the seventy-seventh floor and stocked with all of the ingredients needed for excellent five-star restaurant-like meals, and today was certainly special indeed. The Torque Quadruplets filed into the room and was greeted by, very literally, a feast.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" Ted mumbled dramatically to his siblings. They all nodded in perfect unison.

Now when your parents suddenly throw you dinner worthy of the most famous Mistral celebrities—right after you trash their meticulously designed penthouse living room—you become a little bit cautious about their true intentions. So like one single organism of sea and wind related colors, the kids fanned out, Tyson leading them with Ted hiding conspicuously behind him. Tina and Tommy flanked his sides. They stepped up to the table bulging with food and pulled out respective chairs, sitting down mutely as they waited for the trap to spring.

"So, how was your day?" Their father grinned at the head and asked one of the worst questions any child could _ever_ be asked. That triggered all sorts of alarming bells, and if this was any other location, they would've likened it to an interrogation. "What did you guys do?"

Heads flicked back and forth to each other as they all contemplated on the best move. Father wasn't an explosive guy by any means, but it didn't really hurt to go on the defensive. They were a security company after all. A retreat was out of the question, too, so defense was the general strategy. Zion simply watched his kids do their wordless communication, knowing that they must be very confused at the events; he too didn't understand why they needed so much food, but when Yin was in the mood, she really whipped out a meal. However, like he taught his children, it was always better to be safe than cut in half by a ferocious Grimm—or in this case, their mother.

It was unanimously decided that Tyson would be the one to speak, though he had voted for Tina. Daddy's little princess and all that.

"Ahem," he began, clearing his throat and drumming his fingers exactly like Zion did when he had his 'stalling cap' on. "We… are doing great. Superb, even, from the looks of that _excellently_ cleaned living room downstairs."

Ted snorted and clamped a hand over his mouth. _'He is so bitter,'_ his eyes said. Tina nodded in agreement.

"Ah… yes, the living room." Zion kept his smile neutral. He knew his kids, and the sibling war they apparently were waging was only amusing so far, especially today. Yet, he let it slide to see where it went. "I did see the redecoration. Very… spiffy."

"Yes. Do you like mom's new lamp? It's under a new art style: broken." Tyson framed out his hands with fake, dreamy eyes. Ted snorted again and received a growl from his older brother. He paused at the cricket silence before deciding to stop beating around the bush.

"Are we going to get punished?"

It was not their father who answered.

"Now why would you need punishment?"

Yin's voice and appearance from the adjacent kitchen triggered a cascade of reactions within the quadruplets. They snapped their chair into exact perpendicular angles to the table, slid them in so that they were just the right amount of inches away from the wood, and then their backs straightened into respectable, elite-upper-class posture. Ted even stopped fiddling with the fork at his place. He had jabbed Tommy a few times in the arm. So meaty…

Zion smiled where he sat and watched his children become angels. Oh, it was so good to have married her.

"You're right, mother," Tina said in her lady voice and nodded demurely. "We were only at kid. What have you cooked up for us today?" She blinked sweet and innocent, and a sneaker kicked her from under the table. _Thump!_

' _Suck up,'_ Ted said through his wide, good-boy grin. She elbowed him in the ribs and got an eye roll in response.

"Good," their mother continued. "I should think you all must be hungry after your day. Please, dig in."

There it was again, the utter confusion. The quadruplets looked at each other, back to the enormous amounts of food, and then back to each other. Deciding that if they were to plunge into certain doom, they may as well do it together; like every other time they've gone up against the feared enemy that was their mother. So, with forks and knives in hand, they said thanks and chowed down. There was a flurry of food as each one grabbed their favorites: spaghetti and meatballs, chicken wings and legs, that soft, mushy macaroni and cheese thing, and a bowl of salad for the lady.

"How can you survive eating salad?" Ted said through a mouthful. All thoughts of alliance disappeared in his head as he chomped down on his chicken. Man, that stuff was delicious. He glanced at their mother who was sitting peacefully with her hands on top of each other, having yet taken a bite. She looked rather calm, so he decided not to push his luck.

Seriously though. Salad? Really?

"I'm on a diet," Tina replied. An eye roll came from Tyson's direction. He currently was squirting a glob of hot sauce on his marinara.

"You're always on a diet."

"Oh yeah," the youngest brother agreed immediately without thought. He gulped down a mouthful. "You're going to be like one of those anorexic girls in the cover magazines. So skinny and boneless. Like a turkey!"

His sister growled, and the oldest brother mildly continued, "Turkeys aren't boneless at all. They have a rather large chunk of fat around them when flying for the winter." His little bird fact was punctuated by another growl of annoyance. Tina slammed her fork on the table and huffed.

"Would you cut it out? Ted, you're insufferable. And I don't need your numbskull lookalikes chiming in." She glared daggers at the three clones, though to be honest, she skipped over Tommy who was just sitting there minding his own business and fiddling with a macaroni that had fused with three others, creating an ironic representation of the siblings.

He was trying to scrape off that weirdly mystical noodle group when a breeze somehow managed to blow through the kitchen. It ruffled Tina's hair and threw their mom's silver and yellow back-length hair outwards, forming an ominous thundercloud that was reflected in her bright sunflower eyes. Tina was about to say more, but a single voice broke into the arguing, a voice that demanded silence in its stern command.

"Enough," Zion uttered.

It was one word that snapped the escalating insult fest in two. Their father, from the entrance of Yin till now, had gradually become more and more aggravated by the childish behavior that his children displayed. This was not how he had planned breaking the news about Beacon. His wife could clearly see the mood change in her husband, the tiny twitch of his left cheek, the way his smile seemed rigidly forceful, and how the knife he was using to cut open a piece of bread from the baguette had suddenly shifted into its throwing mode; thumb and first two fingers held at an angle to the handle.

She reached over to lay a hand on his thigh.

"Children, I believe that is more than enough squabbling amongst you. Your father has some news he would like to share, preferably, without side comments and squeaks. Thank you. And Tina dear, you really should eat some meat." She smiled gently, knowing the want of a figure that she too experienced in her teen years. "You won't enlarge anywhere you don't need to. Trust me on that."

Tina nodded solemnly, and Ted graciously offered her a giant chicken wing and some bread, a peace offering that she felt could've fed three families of mice and a dog. The gesture was still appreciated.

All eyes turned to the father, and he nodded once. Gone was the playful attitude from earlier. He had intended on using a few jokes, maybe some puns to lighten the atmosphere, but after that, seriousness was all that could penetrate the active brains of his kids. Finishing off a bite, he thanked his wife.

"Thank you for the meal. Now, I want each of my beloved kids to listen very carefully to what I have to say. I will say this once, and no more. Is that clear?"

"Yes, father," they said at once.

"Good. It has come to my attention that with your recent birthdays two weeks ago, your ages have corresponded to seventeen, the usual age for most aspiring Hunters and Huntresses to join a battle academy. Since it is your wish to pursue this path, and whatever other path you may choose beyond that, I have decided to enroll you in the best academy that I know."

Here, Zion couldn't help but let the drama sink in. Already the quadruplets were all ears, leaning forwards slightly in the exact same way to hear. Reaching into his coat pockets, he drew forth the four envelopes given to him earlier by Dimitryus. He handed them to his wife who stood up, moved behind each of the teens, and pecking each on the head, she handed the corresponding acceptance letters into their waiting hands.

It was Tyson who first noticed the seal.

"Beacon?" he said incredulously. "No, that can't be... Can it?" Curious indigo eyes looked to his father. Nodding just as excitedly as his child, the man gave two thumbs up, now temporarily done with being serious.

"Yes. You will move tomorrow morning."

"Wait, what?" Tina was aghast at the sudden swift series of events. "Wait wait, no! You can't enroll us to Beacon! I thought we were going to Haven Academy! Why are we moving all the way to Vale?" She looked expectantly to the boys who stared back at her with varying expressions, none that showed support for her cause.

Tyson looked pretty intrigued about the decision. He lightly shook his head at Tina's blustering and went back to reading the letter. Haven and Beacon made no difference to him. He was just surprised that their father would allow them to go off so far on their own, seeing how dysfunctional they were as a group. Once he got the confirmation, the sudden waft of freedom increased his heart rate and pumped more blood through his veins. Finally, a new place to see and explore.

Tommy was on the same boat as Tyson. He was evidently psyched, and couldn't help but gobble down some macaroni and cheese to sustain the sudden energy that built in his chest. Beacon! Oh man, he's heard so much! History cited so many famous Hunters and Huntresses from there. And Vale, oh don't get him started! The city looked awesome from the books and computer screens. He couldn't wait to check out the place, see new people, and just enjoy being somewhere new. This was going to be awesome!

Ted—well, Ted was excited, but for reasons that may or may not be good for his parents to hear. A suave grin decorated his face, and he read over the letter again. Was it him, or did there happen to be the slightest hint suggesting that there would be people from all the kingdoms coming to learn at this famous institution? Hehe, yes. He giggled almost maniacally. All sorts of people equals all sorts of girls, equals all sorts of opportunity. Haha, yeah! Score! This was going to be so much fun too. Imagine the possibilities.

That smile increased to frightening levels of charm. Yin felt a nervous shudder crawl down her skin. That smooth look in her son's eyes made her clench Zion's thigh a bit harder. He held her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Guys?" Tina implored her male doppelgängers. "Come on, say something. Back me up here."

They did, but they definitely didn't back her up.

"I think it's great," Tyson replied.

"I'm pumped," Tommy responded.

"I so cannot wait for tomorrow," Ted answered.

"Guys!" she hissed, shocked that she was yet again abandoned by the three boys. Her fists clenched. She couldn't believe this. She just—urgh! This wasn't fair! "Why are you guys so happy about this? Haven is close to home. W-we could come and visit every time we have free time. A-and we know this place. I'm sure Vale isn't as cool as Mistral." She was grasping for straws here, and they all knew it.

"You can say that again," Tyson said dryly. "I want a change in climate."

"And people."

"And girls."

Zion applied more pressure to his wife's hand. Yes yes. He would handle it. Yin was doing her best not to interject.

"But—father!" His little princess whipped her head over. "Do you even _know_ the teachers at Beacon? What if they're super weird? Or they can't provide me a good education? Or they don't like people not from vale? Or there's a lot of discrimination? Or... uh... or we don't do well because it's a new place?"

A raised eyebrow greeted her barrage of questions. Sighing, he straightened up, deciding that it was time to be the serious father again.

"Remember what you promised. Only once. I chose Beacon because I know the headmaster there—as I do in Haven. However, there are a few factors to Headmaster Ozpin that I prefer over to the other one. You will find that he is quite revolutionary in his way of thought. If you are to grow as teenagers, I believe the best person to expose you to the world is through him. You will find that the people of Vale are not weird, nor should they discriminate, and if they do, that is your problem to deal with, to surpass. Additionally, I am sure you'll do quite well in a new place. It's not like you haven't visited. Your cousin Luna lives there. We've been over."

"But not to the city," Tina pressed. "What if there's crime and such?"

Up went the other eyebrow to join the first. She recoiled and sat back down in the chair she had prematurely left, engaged in fighting against the move. Even she had to admit that the last one was pretty lame. Crime? They were a security company for Dust's sake.

"Tina, dear," Yin finally said, "What is the actual reason for not going to Beacon? I know you've been more than ready to take the next step in your training, and yes, I know you must be nervous, scared even, since you have been homeschooled until now. However, I don't think that's why you're so against this. What is it, dear? What's the problem?"

Ted snorted to himself. He knew exactly why she didn't want to go to Beacon.

"I..." the girl stammered, knowing that she was cornered. Her brothers couldn't bail her out of this one, and from the devious look in Ted's cyan eyes, she knew that he was giddy at the reveal. Squaring her shoulder, she decided to just spill the beans.

Point for the Ted-Man.

"I have a boyfriend at Haven," she mumbled with her head down. "He's a second year. We've been dating for four months now. I wanted to go to Haven to be with him."

Yin flared her nostrils in shock. Her eyes widened, and Zion had to bear the vice that gripped his hand. He was just as surprised, not that she was dating as his wife was, but because she hadn't told them. Four months? That is an increasingly large amount of time that she would've spent possibly alone with some unknown degenerate. No background check, no surveillance; she was going into this entire thing blind, and that ate at his gut. Before his wife could shoot sparks with the fury in her eyes, he spoke.

"We will talk about this—later. Away from the boys."

"Yes, father."

Clearing his throat, Zion returned to the subject at hand. The four were going to Beacon no matter what. Tina hung her head and went quiet. Tommy reached over to pat her on the back.

"Asides from packing for living in a new home and any other accessories that you want, there are are a few other things you must take with you: ammo—plenty of ammo—your weapons repair kits, and your phones. I want all of you to have each other's numbers on speed dial. Is that clear?"

"Yes, father," they all said.

"Good. Then that is all. I hope you enjoy your time at Beacon. Don't forget to call us and visit on the holidays. Your weapons should also go through the scanner and get topped off."

Zion finished his last reminders to his children, and looked at Yin to see if he missed anything. She slowly shook her head. No, there was nothing else she needed to say. The quadruplets had to figure things out on their own. The only other thing she could provide was Lien, and that would be given in the morning. With a gesture of her hand, she restarted the meal. There was much less chatter this time around. Dinner finished efficiently and so did clean up. Soon, the Torques were packing their belongings in their respective rooms. Tina lagged behind due to her talk, but in the end, all seemed alright within the household. She even showed them her new slogans. Dad took it well.

In the morning, they made their final farewells and awaited the arrival of a Bullhead aircraft at the top of Torque Towers. Tina was sensationally teary-eyed, much to the chagrin of her brothers. Well, Ted was delighted because he reveled in revealing the secret, and Tyson thought she was being a big dolt about it. Tommy felt bad, but also felt she was overreacting, though he didn't say it. Their mother was as proper as ever, and she managed to hide some tears that leaked loose. Father was still reminding them of different things, checking over items in their backpacks and cases.

The quad-engine ship soon arrived, and with a few last waves, the quartet flew into the clouds; their home and tower turned into a small rectangle as the world shrunk beneath them. Comfortably seated, they stared each other in the eyes. In that moment, there was a silent agreement, a pact, that was made and signed in the telepathic method available to all siblings born mere seconds apart. They were chicks to the world, leaving the safety of their graceful, and powerful nest for the first time. Such a world was dangerous and unknown, especially an environment such as school.

So like the birds that flew in formations, the Torque Quadruplets solemnly swore to be united and stand as one, to stick together as the ultimate team through their years at Beacon. It was all for one and one for now in this brave new world.

And there was no way anyone could change that.

* * *

 **Alright guys, hope you all enjoyed the chapter. :) If you did, please drop off a review telling me your thoughts.**


	3. First Impressions

**Hey guys! Welcome to the third chapter. In this one, I showcase a few new OCs that I've gathered from other people. I would like to collectively thank you as a whole. If you don't see your OC here yet, don't worry. He/She will definitely be seen in the following chapters. With that said, read on and don't forget to review!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. It belongs to Monty Oum (RIP) and RoosterTeeth. I only own the OCs I make and even those are in a borrowed universe.**

* * *

 **First Impressions**

Beacon. What an apt name for a Hunter and Huntress academy. It was short, sweet, and casted such a wonderful image within the mind; a torch of light in the center of so much darkness. Just like the other academies spread throughout the four kingdoms, this one was no less impressive the second, third, maybe even fifth time around. And when it came to proper greetings, Ozpin seemed to know a thing or two about making a first impression.

A pair of fuschia eyes roved constantly over the acceptance letter, stamped with the Beacon axes and laurel. The girl used a slim finger to keep time with her mental voice, reading line by line carefully and accurately. She smiled as she reached the last sentence for the third time. The words, typed in generic font, resounded within her chest, and slowly, she closed the tri-fold, placing it gently on her lap.

 _I believe with enough time, another generation of great guardians will be forged, created in defense of our beautiful world._

Such words were encouraging when one was among a race of people who faced adversity for most of their lives. This thought was emphasized by a bump. The airship hit some turbulence and brushed a pair of rounded gray-white ears, speckled with black spots, up under a woolen pink colored beret. She inhaled sharply, promptly squashing her hand down on her cap to keep it from flying into the air. The well-manicured appendage ghosted lightly over a cute red flower attachment knitted, by her own hand, from some extra thread in her sewing kit.

Iris Seikatsu smiled and fixed the angle of the beret. Then she bent her knees to clutch a backpack against her chest. Her chin rested on the top strap, content to quietly observe the other hopefuls. She was seated the farthest from most of the people, all the way in the back, where only two others were a couple of spots over. Nobody paid her much mind, and she was glad for it. She didn't know if she could handle a conversation while flying.

Her hands tightened again when the ship increased its throttle. No matter how many times she got on one of these, and she has gotten on at least a dozen before her trip—due to her aunt's insistence—she couldn't get over the jolting of her body. It was mostly all mental, but she couldn't help it; the image of being suspended hundreds, thousands, no, _millions_ of miles above the ground and then suddenly being thrown in a random direction always sent her stomach reeling.

Breathing out slowly, Iris shifted her head to the right to discretely stare at the two Faunus girls. She could tell they were like her because of the very visible bat ears on each head. One had straight, long violet hair that formed bangs over her forehead. When she laughed, Iris spotted pale lilac eyes. She held a black beanie in one hand while the other arm bent casually on the window. A sleeveless white blazer covered her purple tank top, and, as the pink-haired girl was beginning to guess, her symbol—a pretty lilac—was stylishly imprinted on her left side.

A snort and giggle made Iris smile when the girl wiggled animatedly in her seat, hands poking her friend. A pair of silver tonfa blades peeked out from her hips, and leaning up against the wall was what appeared to be a gun. Iris searched her memory from her time training under her aunt and finally placed her finger on it: a dust grenade launcher. The bandolier strung across her chest confirmed the fact. Her outfit was finished off by black denim shorts and matching black combat boots.

The other girl was also a bat Faunus, and her ears were slightly bigger and more cupped than the first. Iris noticed black fur when the girl shook her head exasperatedly; she held a book in her hand, also using a finger to trace the lines. For the last five minutes, she tried to read the same page, but concentration was hard with a friend like that. Of course, it was even worse being constantly berated for reading when relaxation was more enjoyable. Black colored, curly hair dropped over both her shoulders, and two streaks of crimson highlights ran down a single straight strand. Her eyes were a deep red, covered by a glassy white that Iris found to be very similar to those of blind people. She leaned slightly forwards to confirm the fact when said Faunus girl under close scrutiny turned over and smiled at her. Then she went back to attempting to read; a little bell around her neck rang with the motion.

 _Ding-a-ling!_

The embarrassed girl jerked her bookbag upwards and retreated, the noise shocking her into a blush of shame, evident as she hid from sight. She couldn't believe she had done that! That was so inconsiderate! She shouldn't be staring should she? But… it's not like she's causing a scene.

Slowly, the snow leopard Faunus lowered her makeshift shield. She wrapped herself a bit tighter with her white and black fuzzy tail, trying her best to look inconspicuous, just in case that book-reading girl saw her continued peeking. Iris noticed that next to her sat a walking stick entirely black, similar to her hair, except for a foot at the top. That area was a solid red.

The pink-loving girl wanted to smack her forehead, but she was too deathly afraid to move a muscle, lest the girl look at her again. Doh, she should've known.

In terms of clothing, the girl wore a vanilla short, v-necked blouse underneath a black, Gothic corset-like middle with criss-crossing cherry red strings in the front. Over top of that was a long-sleeved, waist-length, blood red, one-button jacket, decorated with gothic swirls along the linings of the sleeves. On the back was a gruesome emblem of a heart, dripping with blood, being impaled by a pair of fangs. Her lower wear was less intimidating, a simple pair of black leather pants with various pockets. Iris was reminded of the vampire myths when she looked at the girl. Luckily, those could not be true, so she simply wrote it off as style.

Having seen enough of the two bat Fauni, Iris turned her eyes towards other interesting folks. A set of four caught her attention, and she moved her gaze to a group of humans with varying shades of blue hair, standing diagonally in the center of the airship. She cocked her head a bit to examine the people.

The poor girl had caught sight of the Torques, who, up until that moment, had been doing various things befitting their personalities. They had come on to the airship relatively calm and quiet. Things were still somber from dinner last night, and even the usual bickering was gone. Tina's eyes were currently her normal electric blue, but that didn't stop her from sniffing now and then, still hurt about this unfair decision to go to Beacon. She was conversing with a girl named Carter when Tommy nudged her, a cascade effect that started with Tyson's notice of Iris' excessive, laser-like focus.

They all looked at each other for a split second before Tommy made the first move. He waved a friendly hello to the pink-dressed girl. His eyes picked out the rosy undershirt she wore, buttons going from her waist up to her collared neck where it exposed a small tear-shaped area of her curved chest. A hot pink sweater was on top, and she also had a ribbon of golden-yellow loosely tied around her neck. It was the only thing that wasn't pink; her pants matched her top, and the flats she wore were the same. The diminutive frame fit almost perfectly behind the odd, fuchsia backpack that she was clutching.

Tommy waved again, more confidently this time to show that he meant her no harm. Like he was taught, and was more inclined to do, the boy ignored the urge to stare at her feminine parts and rather noted her appearance as a way to construct her personality within his mind, a first impression that attempted to induce who she was. Zion had taught them to pick out traits that would be essential in dealing with their clients, and each Torque, in his or her own way, was currently in the process of doing so. This girl appeared to be the shy type—if it wasn't obvious by her constant shrinking into a smaller shape.

While his younger brother went for the more "kid-friendly" approach, as Tyson would sarcastically call it, the older brother's eyes remained steady on Iris. He scanned her methodically for the basic image before going for a deeper look at a more important matter: weapons and items with potential to kill. It was an overly paranoid way to view newcomers, but the Torque was serious about his job, on and off duty. All he saw though was the bag. The weapon must be within—unless the bag itself weaponized, potentially making it a dust-based tool. Before he could proceed further, he was interrupted by Tina's hard hip check.

 _'Stop doing that,'_ she glared at him. _'You're scaring her.'_

He snorted in response and looked away. Iris shrunk even smaller under her cover. There was a twitch of lips as Tyson changed his demeanor; he smiled at her, face transforming into one just like Tommy's. It would've comforted the girl if it wasn't so similar; that made it especially creepy. She was staring at two smiles, exactly the same, radiating off of two faces, that were, for all intents and purposes, the exact same.

Iris squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them. It was all she could think of to dispel the feeling of déjà vu that shot through her body.

The only Torque who had yet to notice the leopard Faunus was Ted. He had been doing the usual Ted things: checking out girls, especially that one blonde chick standing with another in a red hood, and coolly having a discussion with a random fellow. Both were bonded by the mutual staring of female bodies. In fact, his eyes had not once stopped roaming on the airship; there were girls everywhere! Literally everywhere! There was an Atlas travel sticker, a Vacuo styled sweatshirt, and even a Mistrallian symbol from a hit rock band. And the best part? His position gave him a one-hundred-eighty-plus degree field of vision for everything girly.

Skirts? Hot!

Blouses? Cute!

Thighs?

His mother would slay him for laying eyes on such luscious legs.

Drool.

It was only through the years and years and _years_ of self control, while figuring out the best way to discreetly look at girls, did Ted manage not to break into giggles, blushes, or show any sign of what he had seen. Leaning casually against the wall windows, and still managing to talk—head angled perfectly—to his new friend, the teen kept his periphery on that blonde girl. Little did he know, he was observing Yang and Ruby, sisters of a very prominently future team at Beacon.

For now, he was villainously trying to decipher what the blonde liked in terms of opening lines. The approach had to be smooth, just like him. There were all kinds of juvenile entrances, but he had a strict code to adhere to when wooing the opposite sex. That was what he called it—wooing—because "hitting on" was too crass and flirting was for the masses. He, Ted Torque, wooed.

But, like all twins, triplets, and those born within the minute apart, our young ne'er-do-well sensed a psychic tickle at the base of his medulla oblongata, a tug that turned his head around towards whatever had caught the attention of the Torque horde. When he saw the mass of pink, and the adjacent Bat Fauni, he forgot all about Yang and Ruby. Temporarily stunned that he was the last clone to receive the text, also slightly insulted, Ted gave a more "in-depth" scan; this one, unlike the other two boys, was not for personality or security reasons, but for style.

Every girl has her own unique look, and Ted figured that pink certainly had to do with this one's essence. She exuded the color in every way, and as far as he could tell (he kept up with the latest trends) she did not wear any designer, further eliminating what words he could say on the matter. His approach modified itself in his mind as Iris turned her fuschia to cerulean. A reddening blush rose up her cheeks, and Ted could hear Tyson lowly mutter:

"Huge mistake."

The fourth quadruplet grinned. Mistake indeed. Showing a blush was equivalent to bleeding in a tank full of sharks. Fuel was added to his manly ego, and to Iris' horror, he strode confidently towards her, an eye-rolling and facepalming swagger-filled walk—from the obvious peanut gallery behind him—that sent her face directly into deeper embarrassment; a shade that matched the cerise hair that ran down to her back. She brought up her backpack to hide, but it was no use.

Ted was on the prowl.

* * *

"Hey there, lovely," he began in trademark style, smiling roguishly at the girl. Plopping himself down to her right, he shifted the dual sword sheathes he had across his back into a more comfortable position. There went the lean, and the teen had himself in a perfect position to woo the dear miss.

"I was wondering why I didn't see you sooner. Must've been the lighting—it really throws off your gorgeous eyes."

Terror was written all over Iris' face. If there was a precipice, she would have crossed it miles back and plunged down into her doom. The girl scooted away from Ted in rapid, broken motions with her back, dragging herself as far from him as physically possible. Her back pressed up against the window wall, and her ears flattened under her beret. Barely making a sound, since the sound was stuck in her throat, Iris did her best to disappear. She wished she was a ghost right now, a transparent being that would fade from creation. Anything was better than the smoldering look within Ted's eyes.

"Woah there," he said soothingly. "Not going to hurt you. Or, like, touch you. I just wanted to talk."

At the word "touch" and "talk," a violent shaking of the head commenced. No no no! _'P-please don't,'_ she thought. _'G-go away! P-please!'_

"Hey hey hey. It's alright." Ted held up his two hands. "See? No harm. What's your name? I'm betting it's something absolutely beautiful."

She kept shaking her head and shuddering like a leaf in turbulent winds. _'J-just go! Go away! I don't… I don't want to talk…'_ Unfortunately, she couldn't help but flush even redder at his compliment.

 _Smack!_ Tyson facepalmed for the third time since the encounter. Holy dust. The girl was helpless before Ted. He looked at Tommy who was worriedly wringing his hands, wondering whether or not intervention was appropriate. Tina rolled her eyes at the incompetent boys and attempted to step forwards to rescue the victim from tyrannical grasps. However, such a direct move triggered another cascade of head shaking that made all the Torques pause. Even Ted was floundering.

Never had this much adversity been faced in his opening lines towards a pretty lady.

Well, okay, never is too strong a word— _rarely_ is more like it.

"Uhmm… right… Haha. Okay." Ted said a few more incomprehensible things and scooted away. "Well, I'll leave you to it." His street credit began to plummet before his eyes.

Was this it? Was Ted Torque losing his grip? No! Never! Adamantly, he turned to the other two Fauni who had gone silent during the exchange. The smile that graced his face turned up to levels rivaling a solar flare, and the only bat girl that could see blinked blearily at him.

"What about you guys? Is this your first time in Vale? If you want, I could show you around. I know all the good hangouts."

The response was not as he expected. Instead of words of indignance, or perhaps coy acceptance, there was a clicking sound that escaped the purple-haired girl. Several times it happened, and he gaped in surprise. What in Remnant was going on? This couldn't be his off day. He refused to believe in such fantastical nonsense.

Then it hit him. Of course! Bats, the weird blinking—all that pointed to weak vision. She must be using echolocation. Oh thank goodness. Insanity was not out of the question for a Torque Quadruplet, but still; that would have really be awful if he broke into madness on the first day of school. Wiping a hand across his brow in relief, Ted surged on with renewed confidence.

"Offer's still on the table," he said winningly.

"I'm going to have to turn you down," she responded. Her eyes kept blinking as she turned to the other three people in front of her. Click click click. Puzzlement creased through her face when her senses detected two boys and a girl. All three looked tremendously similar to the one asking her for a date. "I don't go out with strangers, especially ones scaring helpless girls into a corner."

"I—pfft—what? No, I didn't…" Ted turned to look at Iris who was still in that miniature hunched over form. He grimaced and caught Tyson's eye. There was a restrained fury there that he chose to ignore. "So was that sonar?" he asked, changing the subject quickly to banish the awkwardness.

Tommy ran a hand over the bridge of his nose. _'You did not just do that,'_ his action spoke.

Ted ignored that too. Nothing risked, nothing gained. His periphery caught Tina sitting down next to the pink girl, offering a hand of friendship.

"Echolocation," broke in the second bat Faunus who now joined the conversation, book shut and face making manageable eye contact with the boy. Her glassy eyes made Ted stare; the pair of giant looking fangs in her mouth made his jaw drop.

"Sonar is not specific enough," she went on and smoothed out her raven-colored hair. "Sonar recalls the use of a receiver that emits sound waves before recording the time intervals of those sound waves, converting those intervals to electrical signals. A computer interprets the digits to recreate data about movement and imagery. Echolocation is _bio_ sonar, and it is of a class specific to living creatures. Prominently, it provides a much better way to see the world."

There was a pause of cricket silence. Ted had no words to combat the influx of knowledge. Impressed wasn't even the word for the situation. He was like impressed times five. Times ten. He was so impressed that impressed's mother would be impressed by the impressive things impressed did at school. Dear dust, what an answer.

"I'm guessing you can see my face then," he replied roguishly. "You see this? This is me being impressed. You're impressive."

"It is not so impressive when you learn the terms."

"Well tell me this, my intelligent belle," Ted slid over and threw a hand behind the back of the seat. He looked her alluringly in the eyes, clearly not knowing she was blind. "What happens when you add me and you and coffee?"

"Rejection and a grammar book. If you don't mind, I would rather not get roped up into another one of your publicized relationship dramas."

"My publi-what? I don't even…" He fumbled with his words, trying to comprehend the meaning behind her sentence. It took him a moment, but the revelation soon sank in. "Wait a minute… do you… know who I am? Like… actually? Do you recognize my face?"

"Yes," the girl sighed tiredly, really hoping that her conclusions were wrong. The famous boy was the most obvious of the lot. His actions exposed him so clearly that merely listening to his words gave her a clue to who he was.

"Ted Torque, fourth born of the quadruplets. Your hair, according to the various gossip columns, is a 'wavy' cerulean color of seawater on a warm summer morning. Or, as the other columns go, a gel-based, overly dyed hair of unnatural origins. You're both a flirt, a cheat, and a mass of other words that I'm sure you would not delight in knowing."

Her ears twisted in his direction, and while she could not directly _see_ the reaction, Tina's snicker told her all she needed to know. The girl continued to slam fact after fact on to Ted, derailing the train of suave that he so professionally maintained. It would not be far off to say that this was one of the only times his train had gone from bullet to boxcar speed when dealing with women.

But then again, he didn't earn his reputation without a reason. Ted always found a way.

"Well, you seem _very_ informed about my history." He inched closer to her and totally missed the aggressive frown that appeared on Tyson's lips. His arm draped over her shoulder, and that action rung the little bell, encouraging more. The two were almost touching hips. "So let's cut the dust particles. How about when you're free, I take you on my private Bullhead? I've got the pilot on speed dial."

The girl, who felt rather neutral about her feelings towards the flirt—until now—finally gave up her attempted politeness. Crista Crimson bared her teeth and flicked his pesky arm off like it was a fly on the windowsill. She moved her head to stare at him blankly, effectively disguising her disability.

"Your offer is absurd," Crista stated clearly. Her eyes rolled in annoyance. "A Bullhead's top speed would take it several hours to cross Mistral into Vale and several more to arrive at our location near Beacon. Even with Torque Securities enhanced equipment, I doubt the wait time could be decreased to within the sixty minute mark. Even _if_ I do have free time, which I highly doubt we all will have, I do not think I would like spending it with you, flying over the city, when I've just done so in the past day. If you have any other preposterous claims, please, allow me to hear them now so that we could have some peace on this ship."

Ted was quite easily taken aback. However, he was still a self-proclaimed and extremely bold connoisseur of the art of wooing, and a few well thought out words were not going to stop his advances. He went silent to recollect his thoughts and was about to reinitiate his assault when a curt voice sliced the verbal war in two.

"That's enough."

Right then and there, Tyson sounded exactly like their father.

"Get your arms off her. Stop making up dust particles that you can't back up, and seriously stop finagling every girl you meet with a ride on the Bullhead. This entire thing?" Clone one gestured to the whole scene. "Is depressing. Even your lines are old and rewashed, utilized literally last week. So quit bothering these girls, and let them ride to Beacon without your meddling."

It was not Ted who replied, though he was ready now, but Crista. She brushed some hair out of her face as the boy released himself. Her ears twitched over to Tyson's voice. In the same methodical and matter-of-fact voice she used earlier, she said:

"Thank you for your help, Tyson, but I have this handled."

" _Clearly_ ," he droned sarcastically. Crossing his arms, he tapped his right foot. "How'd you know who we were?"

"There's four of you. You all stand the same way, and the emblem on the back of your shirts is a dead giveaway." Crista smiled and folded her hands up on her lap, sitting straight and poised as if she was lecturing a class. "Even without the media, I'm sure I could have figured out which one you specifically were."

"Clever. And what do they say?"

"I'm sure you know."

"Humor me."

"Very well." Crista smiled. She figured he would go for this, gauging her abilities. Well, she was more than happy to show him. "First born, stern, strict, and disciplined. Some say that you're also arrogant, while others insist that you're the most mature. Your hair is an indigo and not once has there been mention of your scandalous exploits."

"Good recall. Ted—now." His hand beckoned swiftly. "Let's go."

' _Traitor,'_ cerulean eyes said. His brother made to move when the first bat Faunus, aptly named Lilac Frey, shook her head.

"There's no need. This place is all yours. We'll leave you to your business."

She stood up and reached for Crista's hand. In a sudden turn of events, the two girls grabbed their bags, and with the walking stick making light tapping noises on the metal floor, they moved towards the front, giving a wide berth for the four siblings and Iris. Lilac would have reacted sooner if her friend hadn't been so quick on the draw. Though she had to admit: she enjoyed seeing the way Ted's foundations shook. Bet you didn't see that coming, did you big guy?

"What was that about?" she asked under her breath when they took a seat near the front. "I thought he was rather cute before he started speaking.

Crista chuckled calmly. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her book. "Don't fall for the charm. I gave him a first impression. I do hope he knows better the second time around." Then her nose went back to reading, forgetting about quadruplets and flirts as she delved into another adventure on some unknown world.

And indeed she _had_ made a first impression. Already Tyson chalked her up as someone to watch out for, perhaps better if she was an ally rather than on a rivaling team. Tommy just hoped that she didn't hold a grudge; he would feel awful because of Ted's inability to strike a normal conversation without dropping a pickup line. The other girl too looked a bit miffed. He hoped _she_ wasn't mad either. That would stink.

The two older doppelgangers crossed their arms after the two had left and glared at Ted. Such a display was hardly helpful for the company's image. No wonder there was so much publicity on the dude. He pulled this kind of trouble causing fiasco everywhere he went. It's a wonder they weren't forever negatively branded.

"What was I to do?" Ted answered their questioning look. The kiddo shrugged nonchalantly, arms raising in a eh-whatever kind of way. "I saw a chance and took it."

There was a synchronous sigh in response.

"I totally disown you," Tyson muttered.

"Agreed," Tommy mumbled.

* * *

The next five minutes were quiet at best, and suffocatingly awkward at worst. Iris was still unsure about how she thought of these familiar looking people, so she resigned to unblinkingly stare at Tina, who was trying her darndest to talk to the girl. She had started off simple: a greeting, self introduction, and a few easy questions. Nothing came out of the cat-Faunus, evident by the tail, and that made everything entirely weird.

The Torque wanted to try again, but she felt that failure was the only thing going for her. What else could she say to incite a response? Searching her mind, she smoothed out the bottom of her dress. Eyes fell on the unusual backpack that the pink-girl kept cowering behind. Something about the item rung a bell in Tina's memory.

"Hey, um, can I ask you something?"

She took the intense stare as a yes.

"Is that backpack a Meiosis pack? Designed by Gilad Davidi?"

Now that certainly got Iris interested. She nodded about a centimeter. Tina gasped and giggled at the first action from the girl. "Oh my gosh, seriously? No way! The bag is, like, totally the newest in fashionable school wear!"

Caught up in the excitement, Iris nodded two more times. She glanced over at the three boys who were not discretely listening in on the girls. For emphasis, Tommy and Tyson scooted to the side window. They would not interrupt. A second passed before Ted followed suit. _He_ would not interrupt, and that was a blessing all around.

"How did you get one?" Tina gushed. "I thought that the prototypes just came out. The actual stock wasn't supposed to be in till next week. I totally wanted one!"

"Really?" Iris whispered softly, a bit surprised.

"Totally!"

She looked at her bag and creased her eyebrows. When her aunt gave it to her, she didn't think much of where it came from; it was a cool looking accessory with a brief description tag. Early on she had connected it to the famous Mistrallian stylist, but she hadn't bothered to check whether or not there were others like it. To her, it was her bag, her Erumed, an item that features broken, geometric polygons attached to a mesh backing of elastic fabric, forming a shape similar to that of a sleek, back conforming tortoiseshell. It was properly pink, and the polygons were a lighter shade.

Auntie Neith bestowed it to her two months ago for her birthday. Little did she know that this was actually the _first_ Meiosis. It was stronger, tougher, buoyant, and highly resilient to elemental damage, a quality that would not appear in subsequent creations.

Certainly a one-of-a-kind object.

"—Davidi said he wanted to withhold its release till later in the month," Tina continued. Her voice shocked Iris out of her examination. She remembered her fright and retreated properly behind her gift. "The material, he said, wasn't ready for the public. He wanted an elasticity that was stronger than his old designs. Unfortunately, the investors pressed its release, so he had to hurry it up. I'm very surprised you got one. I'm especially curious how..."

The Torque trailed off when she spotted quivering eyes. Tina calmed down her rambling enough to remind herself that she was dealing with someone whose shyness level rivaled Ted's confidence level. Her so-called "friendliness" had reverted to selfishness, and she could imagine her father smiling knowingly from behind his desk. The sly man slid another lesson into their trip to Beacon, and his little princess was too obsessed with herself to realize it.

Tina nervously rubbed the back of her head. Father was way too tricky sometimes. What kind of image did she project? She sounded like a spoiled little brat, demanding why this one girl got something before she could. Dust, she was being an ass.

"But never mind that. You must have an eye for style. Tell me, what do you think of Armani's new line of dresses?"

Iris actually had a lot to say about that, but she couldn't muster up the words to say so. They were jammed tight in her throat, refusing to escape from her lips. Face scrunched up, and Tina thought she had made the girl cry by indirectly assuming something that was not.

"I didn't mean it," she apologized profusely, unsure what to say. Anyone could see that she was way out of her element. "I didn't mean to assume. Please don't be upset."

The Faunus shook her head. No, she wasn't upset at all. In fact, she was overjoyed. Amazed even! Somehow this really famous girl—she assumed so from the talks earlier—decided to speak to her. Her of all people! Oh this was so exciting. If only she could formulate the words. She was just so scared of scaring her away.

"I'm not upset," Iris finally managed to say. She raised up Erumed just in case she evoked the ire of the popular girl. Fortunately, nothing happened. Tina was beaming.

"Thank goodness! I'm so sorry I rambled on like that. Promise," and there she made an X over her heart. "Promise not to do that again. Okay?"

Nod. Okay.

"Great! So, what's your name?"

N-n-nod... Nod. Nod again. Trembling, the word "Iris" finally freed itself.

"Hello Iris. Nice to meet you. I'm Tina. Heh, I already said that."

Erumed shook up and down in silent, anxious giggles. Iris blinked twice in acknowledgement. She shifted a bit before lowering her shield an inch. Tina nodded encouragingly. "Are you excited to go to Beacon? I hear this is a great school."

Nod nod. Excellent even. Ozpin's words rang through her head again. _I believe with enough time, another generation of great guardians will be forged, created in defense of our beautiful world._ She nodded again, and her ears twitched under her beret. Yes, she was super excited. She only wished she could say so.

Words of awe suddenly erupted from multiple mouths as the airship noticeably slowed down. Iris gasped, tightening her grip. She buried her face in the leather strap to stop her plummeting stomach from causing a visceral uproar. It would not allow her to look outside the window when Beacon Academy came into full view. All the Torques raced to the glass to look. Iris whimpered when Tyson accidentally brushed her arm. Temporarily, everyone forgot about her, and she was glad. Those few seconds of talking really took a toll.

"Magnificent," Tina said, gaping at the wispy spires.

"It's beautiful," Ted agreed. He traced the Emerald Tower in the distance.

"No way," Tommy said. He had spotted the outline of the statue in front of the school

"Exactly like Dimitryus said," Tyson grinned. "Good old Dimitry." His eyes found the entrance severely lacking.

The other three turned as one to give him the stink-eye. "What? It's just a building."

"You are literally the worst of my clones," Ted dead panned. "Someone must've injected alcohol into your bloodstream of something. Exactly like Dimitryus said. Bah. No respect for the higher arts."

"His history is also lacking," Tommy added in mildly. He pulled a folded brochure from his pocket. "Beacon houses powerful names that live through time. Generals of wars, leaders, heroes. We're at a millennial landmark and studying under people just short of legends. You shouldn't be analyzing its defensive capabilities."

"Don't tell me that straight road doesn't bother you." Tyson rolled his eyes. "I'd rather verify his findings if you don't mind."

"And you wonder why you're single," Tina jibed without thought. When three heads turned to her, she blushed madly. "What are you all looking at?"

"A hypocrite."

The older brother uttered dryly and pulled out his own "brochure," the one that Dimitryus made for them. His notes were all over the copied item. While he pretended to occupy himself with the sights, as everyone else seemed to be, except for a few people—namely Iris (yes he had eavesdropped; he ain't afraid to admit it) and the blonde Vomit Boy—Tyson was actually looking over the pink-Faunus, though he would never admit to the dastardly act.

His professional opinion? She was cute.

Don't tell a soul.

For her part, Iris was oblivious to the attraction that Tyson inexplicably felt. She had her mind focused on one thing and one thing only: she needed to survive the landing process. The rumbling, the churning, and the background noise of students, along with the introductory hologram of Glynda Goodwitch and news report on Roman Torchwick, all tried to force their way into her subconscious to summon the nausea she was submitting under her will. It only subsided when the airship docked, and a dismembered voice told the students to disembark.

 _Hic!_

Oh no.

 _Hic! Hic hic! Hic! Hic!_

A barrage of hiccups assaulted the girl as she scrambled to follow suit. Iris was a pink tornado, grabbing her other bags, slinging Erumed on to her back, and checking Auntie Neith's letter one more time. Right. Orientation in the amphitheater. Directions are as follows. Her eyes kept reading while her hands moved to secure her things. In her rush, the girl tripped over her own legs, crashing into Tyson to both of their surprise. Eeking quite loudly, she fumbled upright in his arms.

It was by far the most cliché scenario in all the fantasy romance books she has ever read.

"Hold," Tyson said sternly. Indigo eyes looked into fuschia. Ted was silently squealing in the background. "You okay? Stand straight, come on. Good. Everything in order? Right. Be careful next time."

Iris nodded repeatedly and even bonking her head against his chest in one of her overly done gestures. A giant red blush stained her face, and she only managed sounds as she flattened her beret and zipped away. She missed the slightly upward twitch of Tyson's serious lips.

But Ted didn't.

Dramatically, the youngest Torque swooned against the window, fanning himself hotly. "Oh dust, do my eyes deceive me? Has something so close to swerving occurred within my vision? Alas! My brother! A cunning rogue has cast the first move against the unwary princess. Oh teach me how I should forget to think!"

Tyson's response was a kick to the shin that was gladly accepted. He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Just grab your things." Then he quickly exited the ship, it's stuffy interior about to drive him crazy. Ted simply winked slyly and bounced his eyebrows up and down. The other two couldn't agree more. There was no way that was going to be written off as mere coincidence. No no. Quadruplets knew each other's every emotion, and that face that Tyson had was a centimeter shy of delighted.

 _Someone_ , cough cough, had a good impression.

* * *

 **What did you guys think? :) I made a few references in there, most notably the one about the Meiosis backpack. That is an actual item. Google it because it'll be exactly like the Erumed, except pink. :3 If you can also find the Shakespeare quote in there too, I'll give you a cookie. :D**

 **Anyways, don't forget to drop off a review telling me your opinions! Tell me what you what you think about the characters!**


	4. A Rowdy Reception

**Hey guys! Here's the next update! Two more new OCs for you to meet. :3 Also would like to thank those creators who gave me these two dudes! Thanks a lot! Anyways, that aside, read on!**

 **Disclaimer: All rights got to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum (RIP) who own RWBY. I only own my OCs who are still living within a borrowed universe.**

* * *

 **A Rowdy Reception**

Since the Torques were the last ones off the airship, they missed the initial amazement that came from standing under the grand presence of Beacon Academy. By now, the awesomeness dampened to a low sizzle, but it was still enough to grant a pause as the four stared up into the arches and curves, rising their eyes to finally rest on the Emerald Tower. Each carried a set of bags, colored appropriately and adorned with their seal. Weapons hung from various holsters and sheathes that made minimal noise on their clothes.

What the siblings _didn't_ miss was the sound of arrogant and snooty coming from further down the path. While the irony was evident when comparing their wealth to practically everyone else around them, it could safely be said that the pomp coming from the female's voice was the worst of all the stereotypical voices owned by the elite, upper echelon of Remnant society. And there was only a slight ounce of exaggeration in that claim.

"What are you, brain dead?"

Two figures stood in the distance, one in red and black, the other in full white. The latter was holding a briefcase. Her right hand clenched a red vial which she was aggressively shaking in the face of the first.

"Dust! Fire, water, lightning, energy! Are you even listening to me? Is any of this sinking in? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Gibberish was the response from the girl with the hood. She inhaled sharply, and a cloud of red, expanding and contracting with rhythmic breathing, floated over the two girls. The Torques were twenty meters away when it happened. _Boom!_ The detonation of high-quality, grade-A dust created a massive fireball that encased the area, promptly torching a hole in the pavement and generating an aftertaste of metal. Strands of electricity and snowflakes hummed in the air.

"Unbelievable!" Weiss said haughtily and stomped her foot. "This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about."

"I'm really really sorry," Ruby replied. The canister fell to the feet of yet another person of notice, and the quadruplets backed up as one. There was a unanimous decision amongst them to observe the proceedings. Only one Torque was thinking of anything else; Ted's smile slowly began to creep outwards. He watched as more words were passed until—do his eyes deceive him?—yet _another_ girl appeared out of the great blue yonder and joined in on the conversation.

"It's heiress actually," Blake said calmly in what would become her signature monotone. "Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust company, one of the largest producers of energy propellant in the world—"

"Finally! Some recognition."

"The same company infamous for its controversial labor forces and questionable business partners."

A smirk cracked open on Tyson's face. Tommy held in a giggle, and Tina cocked out her hip with glee. Take that you half-wit upstart, the girl said through a silent huff. Only the second brother could truly say he disagreed with her tone; Weiss was alright in his book, long as she didn't try too much to be the daughter of a multi-bazillion and a half corporation spanning all four kingdoms. That snooty arrogance was grinding, even to his well oiled gears.

 _Tina_.

His sister rolled her eyes at his knowing look. _'Oh, as if_ I'm _any worse.'_

' _You could be more friendly,'_ he suggested with a random wave of his hand. _'Just my thoughts.'_

' _Hey! I'm friendly!'_ She indignantly crossed her arms, looking away with a lower lip pout.

' _Please, I have like five things to say about that.'_ Ted clicked his tongue and flashed an irritating grin, shooting two finger guns at her before making his way towards the three women. During the bout of annoyance bouncing off the Schnee, he slid gracefully into the conversation and became a fourth party with but two lines:

"Seems like you met match. Nice to see you, Snowflake."

The rogue showed stunningly white teeth that result in a pace back. Light blue eyes blinked in shock as her teeth suddenly clenched. "Ugh! This is _not_ happening! Ted? At Beacon? When _I'm_ here? What are the odds?"

"Twenty-five percent," Tyson interjected. He came to his brother's rescue, though his motives were less than pure. It could be said that the dude seriously loved shoving the dust right into her nose, which, consequently, was also the reason for all this commotion. "But since we guys apparently don't count as 'actual humans,' let's say fifty percent, give or take an error of zero point one."

Ruby went wide-eyed at the newcomers. What was going on? They all appeared right out of the woodwork—or metalwork. Now that she thought of it, she was positive there was no wood on the ship. It all looked clunky and gray, certainly not tree worthy materials.

"Tyson Torque," Weiss grinded out between her teeth. "Of course _you're_ here—and the rest of your overbearing family too. What are _you_ doing all the way in Vale?"

"We heard there was a beautiful young girl waiting to be met." Ted held up an arm before his brother could fire off another one of his rapid, no-thought responses. "And here you are. First time traveling, Snowflake? You don't need butlers; I got this."

He gestured to the two men behind them, picking up the briefcases that Ruby knocked over. She apologized again to anyone who was paying her mind, yet no one seemed to care. Eyes cast down, she lightly kicked a piece of rubble to the side. Tommy noticed and gave her a light poke on the back.

"Hello there. My name is Tommy. Nice you meet you."

"Oh, ah… hiya… Tommy." Realization dawned on her face, and she moved her fingers back and forth between the four excitedly. "Wait wait wait. Did you say Tommy? And he's Tyson, and he's Ted. Hehe." Ruby snorted humorously. "Does her name start with a T too?"

"Tina. Yes." Said girl replied politely. She bowed. "We're the Torques, and you would've known that if not for those other two's _poignant_ statements. Not that I'm complaining. She deserved it. Even from Ted." She crossed her arms to look over Blake. So far the only words out of _her_ was in defense of Faunus-sounding issues. There were no other major, pop-out-of-the-page-to-scare-you reasons that Tina could place her finger on.

Again, she completely agreed and was totally not complaining.

"Heh, that's awesome. So are you guys like twins? Wait…" A finger bounced up and down to the counting in her head. "Oops, quadruplets?"

"What gave it away?"

"You all look the same. Well, except for Tina. Uh, no offense."

"None taken." She laughed lightly, already liking the younger girl. "I don't want to look like them. Too much boy, you know?"

"Hey!" Tommy faked a pout, head turned and eyes stubbornly glaring at something on the ground. That reassuring smile soon resurfaced, and Ruby felt completely at ease. "I take _slight_ offense in that."

"Only slight?" She playfully poked him on the shoulder. "You looked like you would break into tears."

"Oh don't get me started!" He laughed a deep rumble, and pretended to bawl. The antics were successful in making the girl right at home. With Weiss' arrogance, which he did not endorse, the girl most likely felt unwelcome. It didn't hurt to have smiles and jokes on hand, something that Tommy was more than ready to provide. If only he had some more doughnuts. Making friends would become a breeze.

Speaking of which, he was about to call out to the black-dressed girl when he noticed her walking away, the bow blown lightly by the wind. Maybe next time. Tina caught his look and nodded, storing the student away for later; who knew? She could be a great friend down the road.

"You think she'll come back?" Ruby questioned quietly. The anxiety was evident on her face. "I didn't want to scare her off like that."

"I'm sure she's fine," Tina reassured. "Be optimistic."

That's what shewas going to try to do. Better than moping about her lost love—or attraction, as Father so adamantly claimed. Simple infatuation, nothing more. He was older; she went starry eyed. There was nothing to it. Father always made it sound so simple, breaking things down to bite-sized chunks so she could chew. Grr, why couldn't he give it a chance? The boys could've gone to Beacon, and she could've gone to Haven. But nooooooo! She had to join them.

After dinner, the parents and her sat down for nice little chat. She brought up the usual teenage arguments that one would make: he's so understanding; he knows me; and he really has feelings for me, and no, he's not doing it because I'm a Torque and I'm rich and I have money. Dad, don't say that. I can't believe you won't let me.

The wind then started to pick up in the kitchen, but a mere eyebrow raise calmed the whipping in the air; a single frown and she surrendered. There was no point anyways. Father taught her how to control her semblance. There were no tricks he didn't know. Even without his weapon, Zion would somehow stop the miniature tornado with his mind or something ridiculously crazy. Tina was sure he was a psychic or something, what with the way he just looks at her and immediately knows her thoughts. Truly uncanny.

So she lost the battle before it even started.

Shaking her head, Tina refocused back on the two sets of voices. Tyson and Ted were engaged in some furious argumentation that somehow involved toe tapping from the first and a smoldering look in the second's eyes. Weiss was alternating between raging anger and flushed embarrassment. Tina quietly watched as the first brother threw up his hands in frustration.

"Don't even _get_ me started on that ridiculous sister of yours. What—Dimitryus couldn't comment her outfit without getting a weapon thrusted in the face? He was being polite!"

"He was hitting on her! _Exactly_ like you're doing, Ted!" She shook the dust clenched in her vice-like hands. Fortunately, she had the mind to tighten the glass top more securely before brandishing it about. "You always do this!"

"Wait, hold on. This isn't _'hitting on,'_ Snowflake." Ted made the bunny ears with his fingers. "This is me complimenting you. Come on, don't tell me you weren't the _smallest_ bit excited to see me."

A smile appeared as Weiss averted her eyes, and the coy mannerisms of a charmed girl easily floated up from the chilling blizzard. She was temporarily spellbound, enchanted by his soothing tone and handsome face. Even after the breakup, she could not resist the way his eyes twinkled and how he gestured in such a suave manner. For those who didn't know—and no offense, but you could only not have known if you were living under a rock—the Torque dated the Schnee. It was a sensational story that lit up the Mistral and Atlas airwaves, paper waves and Internet. Terrifyingly enough, it lasted quite a while. Or, at least longer than what the other three had bet. Okay, fine. Other _two_. Tommy would take no part in it.

"Why you—!"

Weiss blustered a few incomprehensible phrases. She harrumphed before turning her back, pointedly clip-clopping away in her high heels. One set of eyes followed her with a pleased smirk. Those hips still did not lie, and her skirt was ever pleasant.

"Maybe lunch then!" he shouted after her, just in case she really was interested. But if not, he always had a backup plan for something like this. Plenty of fish, plenty of chances.

He just wished he caught the right one.

Failed romances aside, there was another set of eyes watching her. This one did not share in Ted's sentiments. They simply rolled in their sockets. Tyson picked up his bags and purposefully walked to his siblings, back straight as a board. His nose flared with annoyance. Dropping the equipment, clothes and accessories like worthless rocks, he spat out a summary of all his feelings during the interaction.

"I change my mind. We're going to Haven."

* * *

Luckily for them, Tyson was not one hundred percent serious about the whole Haven thing. If he was, he would have done more than pick up his bags and say it. Zion would be the first to hear, along with a ready explanation about how he could not _possibly_ go to a school inhabited by someone of that particular ilk, much less a Schnee.

"I remember warning you _not_ to date her," he accused, flicking his head to said undesirable girl in the distance.

It was the first gripe about her in awhile, seeing as how their Father knew not to send the siblings on company runs anywhere _near_ a Schnee after the initial "incident." It was bad enough that the family player decided to swerve every time he sees female legs. It was even worse when Zion's supposedly composed son forgot his professionalism and went directly for the metaphorical throat of insults.

Ted chuckled and shrugged. He really couldn't deny that he was warned. Tyson made it plenty obvious. The contempt on his curled lip said it all.

"Look bro, I hear you." Ted placatingly held out his two palms. "Don't meddle with the Schnees. Gotcha. Clone honor, sure. But come on, I can't help it. She gets so _adorable_ when she's angry, all uppity up up, and nose in the sky. Besides, I'm pretty fond of long hair. And skirts."

He chose at that inopportune moment to glance at Ruby which earned him a nice smack on the head by Tina. That was followed by two more smacks, one from Tommy, a necessary evil, and another from Tyson, a _required_ evil. Great, now a bruise was going to form right in front of all the pretty girls.

"Remind me not to say that again," he joked to Ruby. She chuckled and gave two thumbs up.

"You got it!"

At least she was a good sport about it.

After a few more words about what just happened, the Torques collectively excused themselves when Vomit Boy arrived with a wave. They had nothing against him, but the lead Torque was already itching to get started on their own reconnaissance of Beacon. It was a horrible habit, but after getting worked up, he did three things: went to work, cleaned his weapons, or started hitting things in the training room. Option two and three were out, so that left the first to be dealt with.

The two groups parted ways and soon saw each other again during orientation. The amphitheater was jammed packed with students and filled to the ceiling with all sorts of weapons and gadgets. The quadruplets bunched up on instinct, a virtual school of fish that swam with one mind. Tyson led the diamond formation, and he dropped them off near the front. They stayed respectfully quiet as Ozpin began his speech. It was a pretty basic thing, inviting them to Beacon, but it gave them a rather nice look at the headmaster.

Honestly, they weren't spectacularly impressed. He didn't say anything amazing, nothing spellbinding, and the dude even sounded like he was speaking to himself. There was an edge to his words, an edge that the Torques easily picked up from all their experiences with the company. Usually clients had a reason for hiring, legitimate, illegitimate, you name it. And when they spoke in that contemplative manner, head tilted, eyes scanning the crowd, and then began with "I'll keep this brief"—something was usually up. While the four knew not what that was, they could hear the undertone of his sentences.

But that was another matter for another time.

Only Tyson deemed it of particular importance, pondering on the matter as Glynda Goodwitch dismissed them to the ballroom. His brows furrowed, and his feet kept time to the rhythmic steps of the crowd around him. When they arrived, the room was already being divvied up on a first come first serve basis. The space was massive, cleared out and devoid of the usual amenities for dancing and refreshments. Pockets and islands began to emerge on the cedar-wooded (right? He would have to check with Tommy) floor; it was interesting to see the kingdoms group together among the sea of otherwise confused and friendless students.

Vale stuck with Vale; Vacuo with Vacuo; and the Mistral students hung with the Mistral students. A few Atlas students, noticeable by the way they gave Weiss knowing nods, ones that she completely ignored, made their own cohort. That left a few stragglers and isolationists to find their own spots, either at the edge of the social world or daringly in the middle.

The Torques drew puzzled looks and a few sparks or recognition when they telepathically decided on a section of the eastern wall—north being the opposite of the entrance.

Tyson threw his two white-indigo duffel bags on the ground and shrugged his backpack off his shoulders, claiming the spot in the name of the Torque Empire. The other three did the same; Tina dropped with an _oof_ and stretched out her slender legs.

"Tired already?" Tyson grunted out. He took a seat next to her and bent his knees up to his chest. A finger fiddled with his right sneaker. They were of the running and sports kind, which was unlike Tommy's combat boots or Ted's absurd, leather dress shoes. It was lightweight and conforming to his foot, and curved, crescent-shaped pieces of indigo metal were fused around the ankles running down to the heel. There was a pressure slot over his Achilles' tendon that he pressed down. Out slid a miniature tray holding up four test tubes of dust, hooked to the inner mechanisms of the shoe.

"Not tired," Tina explained while she looted around her bag for a sleeping bag. "More like I'm just a bit... slow on the uptake. You, Ted and Tommy are always fast to adapt, and I'm sitting here like: wow, we're actually going to Beacon?"

"Don't tell me you're still hung up on that Haven dude." He examined the contents and deemed them filled up enough. Just to be sure, he removed each one for proper examination. The compulsive way he worked reminded Tina of Father who was equally obsessed with his weapons and equipment, particularly when he wasn't in a board meeting. Of late, those happened a lot.

"Not anymore," she decided with a huff. "Stop bringing him up."

Ted interjected with a shrug. Like Tommy, he automatically assumed he was a part of the conversation. To be honest, they basically all were. "He wouldn't bring it up if you didn't mope about for like a bunch of hours."

"I did not mope!" Tina chucked her pillow, shaped like their emblem and fringed with cottony fluff. _Boof_. It struck Ted on the head, and he kept on fixing his bed, returning the item back to his sister.

"You're feeling overwhelmed." Tommy came to her rescue with a nicely timed assist. She nodded enthusiastically and grabbed the lifeline.

"Exactly. I'm overwhelmed."

Snort. Tyson rolled his eyes again in disbelief. "Tell that to some of the people who are _really_ overwhelmed." He refilled one of the tubes in cricket silence from a container inside his pack. Looking up, he noticed wide eyes, and a slyly eyebrow-bouncing look from—guess who—that made his pause and rethink his casual sentence, delivered without much filter.

"Did you just—" Tommy began.

"—say that some others are overwhelmed—" Tina went on.

"—as in Iris? That pink girl that you so bravely rescued from harm?" Ted finished off their thoughts, albeit with his own devious alteration.

Tyson stopped his motions and blinked, realizing the massive mistake. With an irritated grunt, he snapped shut the test tube, tossed his container of various dust into his bags, quickly palmed his sleeping clothes and got up to change. A rigid back spoke more than the glare he threw at his doppelgängers. Ted giggled childishly. Boom, that was for the Schnee incident.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth!" he called out. Publicly humiliating Tyson, which didn't come often, was a favorite pastime. He tossed the bag of deodorant and dental care towards his brother who easily turned and caught it with a hand.

Ted imitated the snort and exploded into more giggles.

"What joke is that good that you crack yourself up?" a new voice broke into their talk, smooth, refined and with a hint of a Middle Eastern accent. Ramses Abubakar crossed his arms in front of his chest. Their meeting on the airship really connected the pair in a powerful bro relationship. It didn't hurt that the dude had his same interests.

Bronze-colored eyes lingered on Tina after his respectful nod, and alarm bells of all kinds fired off. Ted bounced up, yanked on the dude's thick arms, ropes of hardened muscles and sinew. When they were out of earshot, the Torque rounded on his friend.

"Dude, what was that?" he hissed.

"What was what?"

"The look you gave Tina!" His arms flew comically in the air. "That was a smolder look, not a hi-nice-to-meet-you look."

"Oh that? Yeah, your sister is pretty."

"Okay, new bro rule." Ted held up an aggressive pointer finger. "Sisters are off limits, unless she asks you out first, and then that's alright. Deal? No shenanigans."

"Alright alright, yeesh." Ramses placed a hand over his heart and the other he raised into the air. "I solemnly swear not to hit on Tina and be my usual handsome self. Happy?"

"Eh, you could try groveling." At that, his friend smirked and held out a fist. Sighing at the close call, he accepted the bump. "Fine fine. You're off the hook. Anyways, what's up? Aren't you hanging with your Vacuo buddies?"

"Naw man, those guys are no fun. 'Sides, I was thinking, you know, me and you. We go find some girls, mingle about, get up to some _shenanigans_." His hands flicked back and forth suggestively. "See what trouble we can cause. Plus, sleep attire man. You know what that means: shirtless!"

To emphasize his excitement, Ramses threw off off his linseed wrapping, rust-orange, stretchy, form-fitting shirt to reveal a toned top, filled with a very very manly six-pack and pecs. Matching khakis adorned his bottom, and tevas sandals snugly wrapped around his feet.

Ted put a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "You make a very convincing case, my dear fellow. Very well, it shall be done!" In the same motion, he threw off his collared shirt and whipped it around, charmingly flexing his toned stomach in comparison. While he was lighter skinned than Ramses' olive, the teen was no less fit, maybe even more so if that forming eight pack had anything to say about it. And it did, it really did have a lot to say. Like, "Ted, you are the sexiest dude in Remnant!" Or, "Ted, I'm confused why all the girls don't throw themselves at your feet." Or maybe even, "Daaaannnggg boy, how much do you lift?"

To which Ted will say that he can lift like five hunnah or something similarly ridiculous.

"Eh?" Ramses gestured. "Eeehhhh?" He shifted to the left so that his wider shoulders covered Ted's form. Running a hand through his curly, amber hair, he performed the talking-and-checking-out technique flawlessly. What form. Such well oiled ease. Ted could ask for no better wingman.

"Left shoulder, maybe about an inch over. Red hair. Told ya this is awesome."

The only problem with this cover was the fact that the Torque was about an inch taller than Ramses' five foot eleven. To anyone who was actually looking at them, and there were some—Ted was sure of it—it was pretty obvious. Still, the effort was what counted, little as it was.

"Awesome is one word I would describe this," he muttered in agreement and a bit of awe when he caught sight of said female. Thump thump, thump thump. Dust, she was hot. "But that's besides the point. Shenanigans says you?" A wide grin of ear-to-ear proportions grew on his face.

"Keep up dude!"

Sweeping forwards with his shirt thrown over his back, the two stepped in swagger-licious unison. Watch out ladies, the boys are in the house!

* * *

Unknown to the quadruplets, a pair of electric blue eyes traced their movements from the corner of the room. These eyes contrasted starkly against short trimmed, dark purple hair. A scowl was layered on the his face as he watched one of those blue-haired idiots fool around with some other equally complacent tool. Eminence Mauve grinded his teeth, contorting the various sickly scars that tore up his countenance. One hand clenched with barely restrained anger, also deeply grooved by tissue that refused to heal.

Slowly, he stood up, and having had enough of eyeballing the most convenient Torque target, the lanky, five foot nine teen stomped his way over to his self-determined foe. His legs, covered by a purple pair of shorts, revealed even bigger scars that made his thighs and quads look like scratching posts for the world's most annoyed tiger. A simple, undecorated t-shirt fit over his chest, luckily covering the biggest scar on his body, a shoulder to hip, two inch wide gash. Eminence resolutely walked, ignoring the looks of shock and disgust. He drove a direct beeline towards Ted and Ramses, trampling over different body parts and sleep attire on his march.

"You!" he declared quite dramatically and jabbed a finger towards the player. A flirtatious sentence was cut in two by the assertive tone. "What in the world are you doing here?" The half-growl, half-shout that he used made Ted pause.

Was that rhetorical? Or... what?

"Uh… I'm talking to a girl? If you don't mind." He gestured to the redhead. She looked stunned at the opaque left eye and the claw-like slash that ran through it. Eminence didn't look friendly in any way.

"Spreading lies no doubt. I have a bone to pick with you, Torque."

"Oh hey, you recognize me." Ted puffed out his chest. "Wait, what bone? I don't think I had fish today."

"Hilarious. You think you're so funny, going around and instigating scandal towards every girl you see. Well let me tell you something, you dust-bitten fleabag. I _know_ exactly what type of person you are, you and the rest of your forsaken siblings!"

Each word he spoke, Eminence's voice rose higher and higher in volume until it was a shout, gathering the attention of everyone in the nearby vicinity. His eyes were livid with fury, and for some reason, he constantly stomped, frighteningly sassy.

"Excuse me?" Ted said incredulously. He smiled apologetically at the redhead, internally promising to finish his courting another time. "Look, I don't even know who you are, so before you start causing an uproar, tell me what the dust I did wrong. Like—did I look at your girl wrong or something? Or—" His eyes widened and he whipped over to look at the chick. "Are _you_ his girlfriend?!"

Red flag! Red flag!

"Ramses! Why didn't you tell me?!" Comically, Ted grabbed his friend's by the shoulder and shook him. "Why oh why!?"

"What?" both male and female shouted. Ramses shoved Ted off and shook his head. "No way dude, I didn't know."

"I'm not his girlfriend!" she protested. "I don't even know him!"

"Stop stalling!" Eminence roared. He lunged for Ted who quickly slipped behind Ramses in a smooth spin. The look he held shifted warily as ingrained years of training moved to the forefront.

"Alright, you need to stop." His voice calmed quickly, all signs of playfulness fading. "I don't know who you are, but you seriously need to chill." He would have emphasized the words by drawing his sword, if it was not lying back by his sleeping bag.

"Yeah, totally." Ramses shouldered the purple-haired freak off and frowned. "Get a grip."

"Get a grip? Get A GRIP!? Tell me to get a grip when a Torque STABS YOU IN THE BACK!"

"Hey, nobody's stabbing nobody. Alright? Calm down."

At this point, the dude was spouting accusations that sounded completely absurd to Ted. Was there a single ounce of sense? The dust was totally throwing off his mojo. Dust, everyone was staring. Even Weiss and those girls from before were listening in to their debate. She gleefully crossed her hands to watch the stranger detonate a social bomb.

"Serves you right, Ted!" she called out, and Eminence immediately latched on to the name. Before, he knew not which male was which.

"Ted, huh? Well let me tell you something, _Ted_. It was your stupid company's fault. All of it. If _your_ dad didn't assign _my_ dad that horrible assignment, he wouldn't be riddled with pain every single moment of his life! This is all _your_ fault! Your entire damn family!"

"This? What's this? You know what—Ramses, scoot." Ted advanced on Eminence, eyes flashing at the insult towards his family. "What in the name of Remnant are you talking about? You make no sense, and I seriously hope you have some backup for your claims. Who even are you? Where did you come from? Like seriously—people are trying to sleep here."

By this time, Tommy and Tina noticed the commotion. They hurried over to provide support. The male wore a white simple cotton shirt and gym shorts, while the female wore a dolphin decorated sleepshirt that ran down to her thighs. Shorts peaked out from underneath the high-quality silk. Eminence narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. Instead, he turned his attention to Tommy who now stood between them, hands out like a referee.

"Please guys. Less yelling please. Perhaps we should discuss the problem _outside_ the ballroom."

"No." Tina placed her hands on her hips. "I want to hear it now. What's with you, huh? Why are you picking on Ted? Did he hit on your girlfriend or something?"

"Hey!" exclaimed said boy indignantly. _'Why do people have such low opinions of me?'_

' _Have you looked at yourself recently?'_ Tina raised an eyebrow. Ted had to concede her point. Being shirtless probably didn't help his case.

"Tina, please," Tommy implored, "Don't make a scene. And you, sir, please, let's walk outside to discuss this problem."

"I don't need to go outside," Eminence said adamantly. "I'll tell you what you've done. I'll tell everybody!" He threw his arms wide and purposefully drew in the attention of all. A few told him to go to sleep, but he surged on, uninhibited by the boldness in his words.

"The Torques have committed atrocious crimes! Here they are, smiling, joking, flirting and carrying on as if their actions mean nothing! Yet I know the truth! Their company is a sham! It advertises security but can do _nothing_ for those it hires. I know who you guys are: liars, backstabbers, betrayers! You would rather turn your back than take responsibility for what you have done. _That_ is the naked truth of the matter; if you had cared, owed even a single ounce for those who sacrificed while wearing your badge, you will know who I am, and you will know what you've done to my dad. "

Eminence finally released his heated breath, nearly frothing at the mouth. The impromptu verbal bashing came from deep seeded animosity that boiled over its kettle. His face was a hideous contortion as more words reached his mind. He was about to say more when Tyson broke through the tension in a single smooth move.

"Eminence Mauve, son of Gris Mauve and Kisari Mauve. Hunters under Torque Securities, SPCR Division."

The oldest sibling held his clothes tucked under his left arm, folded neatly into a pile with his double leg holsters, holding his two pistols, sitting on top. The annoyance in the indigo sea swirled turbulently, and his swift strides, almost like he was running, placed him mere inches in front of this ridiculous aggressor. He spoke robotically and recited facts from his head, pulled from the file that contained the SPCR report, labeled Alpha-Class 1 colon EI Five. Some parts were blacked out on the document, and Tyson lacked the clearance to view them, even if Zion was his father.

His tone was low enough now that only Eminence, his clones, Ramses and the redhead to hear, though to be honest, she already moved away to be rid of the conflict.

"Employee Injury Five states that Gris was severely injured during a battle against Grimm. His team escaped and carried him to safety. Then he was honorably discharged, no longer being able to perform his duties."

He stopped to glare hard before continuing. "Of course I know who you are, Eminence, so instead of accusing us blatantly and with such arrogance, next time, perhaps you'll like to not be so vague. There is no reason you should be so worked up over a past incident that Torque Securities has already dealt with."

That last sentence, though correct in its reasoning—the past was certainly the past and there wasn't much they could do to change it—ignited the fuel surrounding the wronged teen's chest. He lunged for Tommy who matched his swift forward momentum with his own backwards slide, grabbing air as a result.

"Worked up? You're telling me not to get worked up? This is the exact lack of empathy that I expect from a Torque. You have no idea the pain your family created, and you've done nothing about it either. Where is your so called "honorable discharge" when my dad struggles to do everyday chores? He's in a wheelchair for dust's sake! A wheelchair! Do you know how humiliating that is?"

"And do you know who paid for that wheelchair?" Tyson raised an eyebrow as Eminence stumbled in his arguments, sputtering a second to regain composure.

"He bought it himself of course, just like he paid for all the medicine, the hospital trips, the surgeries. Everything grew out of our pockets, and we're lucky my mom got a new job as an analyst or else we'll be in poverty right now, something that _you_ know nothing about."

"You're wrong again. You've been wrong the moment you turned your unwarranted anger towards us." There was now a deadly blade backing the Torque's words. He maintained his outward calm, but the coals in his stomach sizzled fiercely. The temperature in the surrounding air dropped considerably, and he noticed Ted itching to jump in. His thin-lined lip said _'Tag me in! Tag me in!'_

 _'I'll handle it,'_ Tyson responded with a eye flick.

"Then delight me," Eminence spit out sarcastically. "Tell me where I'm the bad guy and you the good."

"This isn't about good or bad, it's about the contract. The Employee Injury Policy under Section 10 of the hiring contract clearly states that any and all damage sustained by an employee will be fully compensated until said person, male or female, human or Faunus, has fully recovered or recovered to the best of the injury. After which necessary items such as _wheelchairs_ , crutches, aids or others will be provided and _paid for_ by the company. Additionally the employer will do whatever he can to provide a secondary method of income for the wounded's family. Transferring to another less physical position or offering a desk job for the spouse is one of several dozen ways Torque Securities provides for a family."

After reciting every major point under Section 10 of the EC (Employee Contract), Tyson backed off. He dared, no double dared, Eminence to make a response. He _quadruple_ dared the jerk to make a comeback. He wanted him too because then he had all the right in the entire universe to shut this _stupid brickhead_ down, tearing another gash in the dude's ghastly face. It was rude, it was petty and it was not worth it, but Tyson itched for it. This dust-hole came up to his brothers and sister, made a damn scene and expected to get away with it?

Not in a million years.

Tommy signaled him to stop.

Ted urged him to go on.

And Tina was torn between the two; she remembered that report, and her eyes clouded slightly. She could feel the upwelling of emotions, fresh as the day she heard the news, but she was halted by Eminence's hateful words. Slowly she shook her head. No, don't Tyson. Let him have his anger.

 _'It's only right.'_

Tyson rolled his eyes.

Eminence, on the other hand, was speechless. He gaped blankly at the Torque's indigo eyes, confident and unwavering in its contact. There was no remorse there because there was no more remorse to give. It was already given, provided the moment that the news arrived about Gris' injuries. His fury abated and washed away as pure reason broke through the barrier constructed ever since he found out who was to blame. And they honestly weren't the ones to blame. Maybe on some unjust level, one that Eminence still held, they were the enemy, but everywhere else, they were in the right.

Yet, he couldn't shake the rooted suspicion and blame. His eyes narrowed and like a diver, he came up for air, seeing the colorful world that hurt his eyes adjusted to the dark. Tyson was right. Eminence didn't want to admit it out loud, but he would admit it to himself. It had been easy to scapegoat the company, its fame and emblem. The big boss on top was always inherently the enemy. But when it came down to it, he didn't want to believe that such an enemy could actually be an ally.

Grunting, Eminence elbowed his way past Tyson. He used his one opaque eye to look over his shoulder, a warning that spoke volumes of what he still thought of the four. He was calm, but that did not mean they were friends. Grudging acquaintances was even a stretch. There was no trust in that one orb, and Tyson took it without hesitation.

In that moment, each boy looked like their fathers, in one way or another.

"This isn't over," Eminence warned them darkly. He walked away with Tyson's last words ringing in his ear and his half smirk imprinted in his mind.

"Of course not."

* * *

 **Whatcha guy think? :3 Looks like the Torques have a new enemy. Wonder what that will bring. Also, see if you can spot a Disney reference in there. I think there may be two. ;D Drop off a review!**


	5. Lame

**Hey guys! It's me again with another chapter update! :P I would like to thank Carter's creator for allowing me to use her in my story. It was greatly appreciated. Anyways, without further ado, I give you the fifth chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. It belongs entirely to Monty Oum (RIP) and RoosterTeeth. I only own the OCs I've created, and even then, they are in a borrowed universe.  
**

* * *

 **Lame**

After yesterday's rather turbulent events, the rabid waters had long since died down, giving way to a restful sleep. There were no more accusatory words flung at them, no angry beast of a man to attack their dignity. Things were rather upbeat when Tommy woke up, stretching out his arms. He was a giant bear blinking into the light of spring with a yawn gracing his drowsy demeanor. A humming _vrrr-vrrr_ of a very familiar sounding tool turned his head towards Ted who, for perhaps the first time in forever, was up before him.

"Hiya Tommy."

A tongue stuck out from his mouth in concentration, the handheld drill whirring against the metal of his dual sheaths. A steel tip bore into white and cerulean, one stacked on the other. They were decorated with hexagons, octagons, and all sorts of gons that gave it a diamond like appearance. Each was about two inches wider than the actual blade of his jians; the swords casually leaned against the wall. He pressed his arms down steadily to rotate out a stubborn screw that he must've tightened too far some time ago.

"Fixing your Crystal Sheath already?" Tommy asked. He rolled over to perform some basic stretches on his stiff back; tendons and ligaments audibly popped when he turned, the deltoid contorting under the unusual angle, and deliciously constricted to release a content sigh. "That's a first."

"Actually, I'm not fixing. I'm maintaining." The fourth brother waved the drill nonchalantly. He carelessly pressed the trigger several times. _Vrr! Vrr!_ "I figure since we're gonna be thrown off a cliff today, I should oil the jet nubs and calibrate the receiver and transmitter connection to my vambrace."

He wiggled white colored items around his forearms. Metal scales and overlapping plates folded neatly into an oversized wristwatch of about four inches in length. A touchscreen sat at the center of the piece, reflected brightly in the morning light seeping out from the small gaps between the drapes.

"Don't want a bad connection mid-launch. Plus, I gotta give the inner water release lock another checkup. Last time we went on a mission, the hatch froze shut. I'm thinking of mixing some oils between the gears."

He grunted as he managed to unscrew that screw, detach the sheaths and peer curiously into the inner guts of his device. Tommy grinned while arching his back, the muscles in his arms bulging. "You sound so technical right now."

"Hey, you and Tyson aren't the only ones with the gadget wizardry in this family. Besides, you know what dad says." As one, they recited their father's mantra:

"An unstrung bow is a useless bow."

Ironically, Father didn't use bows, and Tommy said as much. He stood up to reach for the skies, scanning the ballroom to see that a few of the other students were still fast asleep. Some were up and lounging about, and a few were packing their bags. He gave Ruby a little wave, and she smiled back. Yang also gave a friendly wave and two thumbs up. They were introduced after the Eminence incident, which didn't actually smile kindly on the fellah. Poor dude. Tommy decided to talk to him later about it when he had the chance.

Grinning at Yang, he returned the wave. He didn't know it of course, but she seriously approved of his biceps.

"No, but I'm pretty sure he borrowed mom's Thunderclap from time to time." Ted offered out a hand. "Hey, you got that flathead? There's some gunk in the fold switch."

"Yeah sure." Tommy reached for his bag and opened a side compartment where he had his box of tools. He gently handed Ted the screwdriver. "I think that saying is actually much older than him. I did some research on our family, and an anecdote dated back five generations with someone saying that line. Interestingly, it was not a Torque, rather some obscure lower, middle-class family of Hunters. They were somehow associated to a Torque, best friends or a great-great-great-great-great co-worker or something. I triple checked my dates, and I'm sure of it."

He ended the lesson with a proud smile. Two weeks of research was poured into the subject and after scouring through not only the family databanks, but the library, he discovered all he could about their history. For one, did you know that Torques used to work as mercenaries? _He_ obviously didn't. In fact—though he didn't dig too deep beyond that—the mercenary group they came from not only did the usual paid work, but often times, they would act as defenders of one town or another. It was all very fascinating, and the stories would make for great rainy day tales, but that again, was another topic for another time.

Right now, he had a makeshift workout to get through. While it was not for the ladies, contrasting to what Ted worked out for, Tommy still deemed it important to stay fit. Plus, he didn't like being lazy in the mornings. It always made him sluggish afterwards.

"Did you _quadruple_ check?" Ted asked distractedly. He didn't look up from his tinkering, but he still thought it completely necessary to correct the resident historian of the family.

"Checking a fourth time would not reveal something I didn't already find out," Tommy answered sagely. "Plus, I don't think any information goes further than that. There's only one more generation back where the last name Torque even comes up, and that was before that one war. Besides, I'm not a genealogist."

"Pfft, not yet anyways. I'm telling you dude, if all else fails, that's what you should be. A genie-whatever. Grant wishes." Ted giggled to himself, sure as all dust that he was super funny. To say he was confident was an understatement.

While the two boys were wide awake and bickering, a certain female blinked blearily into consciousness. Tina wearily batted the air with a fist and yawned, "I saw him practice three days ago. He had a bow."

Their eyes turned to a bed head of phenomenal gorgon proportions.

"He..."

Yawn.

"He was shooting..."

Yawn.

"Shooting targets with Nimriel. He'sh pwetty good..."

She finished her sentence with another yawn, promptly crashing headfirst back into her pillow. She performed the latest fad of snailing, if you could call something so embarrassing a fad. Realizing this fact, Tina immediately flattened herself down, a reddish hue on her cheek.

Did any guy see it?

Ted was thinking the same thing, and a protective instinct arose from his chest. He scanned his eyes around until they landed on Ramses, who, bless his face, had a gaping jaw. It audibly snapped shut, and the poor dude jumped upright, frantically occupying himself with something to avoid the number one crime bros could make to one another.

 _'Yeah you better run.'_

Mumbling something about the fallacy of the bro code, Ted aggressively went back to scraping the gunk out of his sheathe. He applied the lubricant and oil mix after decently ridding the innards of fire and water dust. That was another thing that sorta annoyed him; cleaning was the worst. It's basically on a level equivalent to homework and broccoli, two worldly evils that he still has not figured out a way of defeating. And yes, it was a dozen times worse when Mother was the teacher. How many hours was wasted on something so stupid as arithmetic?

He didn't need to learn how to long divide! She should've taught him how to pick up babes! Like come on! Math? Or girls? Math? Or girls?

Was there ever a debate?!

"Dad's a natural," Tommy agreed, interrupting the monologue that Ted found himself in. He jolted to reality and nodded along, not really in the zone. Tommy easily picked up the distraction. It wasn't hard when he looked exactly the same when _he_ were distracted, eyes blank and hands occupied by whatever it was he was doing earlier.

A companionable silence covered the three as the second quadruplet dropped down to perform some swift push-ups. His arms pumped smoothly; his nose touched the ground each time as he mixed in some oblique leg crunches, bringing up his right leg to bend his side and releasing when he moved up and down. A pair of footsteps alerted them to the last clone's presence.

"Good. You're up. Here. Chow time."

Curt sentences were emphasized by the foil wrapped sandwiches that he tossed them. Tyson plopped down on his sleeping bag and peeled away the layers of flattened aluminum, meant to keep the food warm on his trek around campus. In his other hand was a small black briefcase.

"Checked on the MSEs. Still functioning. I hooked everything to the carry on, so once we get free time, I'll link it to the scrolls. Surveillance should be up in no time." His serious business tone incited a loud groan from Tina. She wiggled her face in her pillow, really not in the mood.

"Urgh, do you have to talk about work _now_?" the mouth mumbled around cotton. She shook her feet childishly in the air, refusing to rise with the sun like her obsessive older brother. He woke at horrendous hours, and it frightened her that he could be so chipper about it. "Why do you always ruin mornings? Can't you ask how I slept?"

"You slept like a log," Tyson dryly concluded for her. He bit into the ham, eggs and cheese sandwich. "A dead person couldn't have slept better than you."

"Don't be rude. Have some respect for the deceased. And chew with your mouth closed. I can hear your chomping."

It was a missed accusation for Tyson ate like a proper gentleman, while Ted giggled through a slobbering mouthful of mashed up, catalyzed grain and protein. He exaggerated a crunching noise that somehow sounded like it came from the older boy's end. He loved it when mannerly, first-heir-to-the-throne Tyson was blamed. The dude ate with proper etiquette like the snobby little good boy that he was. Yuck. How exquisitely refined.

And _he_ had the nerve to make fun of the Schnee? Could someone call the hypocrite society? They're missing a new member.

Tyson, on the other hand, had quite a few choice words to say to his miscreant brother, chiefly about the way he ate—like an overgrown dairy cow. But he held it in for the sake of the morning, not really wanting to reenact another Eminence scene. He went on eating, and Tommy continued to exercise. By the time all of the usual reps were done, the sandwich was lukewarm and sorta squishy, but it was still extremely edible, evident by the way Tommy gobbled it down in about three seconds flat.

" _Urrrrp!_ " he burped, "Excuse."

Tina tilted her head up to glare at him. _'So childish.'_

He was inclined to agree.

Ted finished with his fiddling, and his sister moved to sit up. She sat cross-legged, combing her hair while he scrambled around for something in his duffel bag. The light clip-clop of Glynda Goodwitch's heels resounded in the silent air soon after and alerted them to her presence. Irately, she scanned the room of sleeping forms. _Tch_ , went her tongue, and the blonde woman waved her riding crop to activate the light bulbs. Light beamed down on lidded eyes, scaring the dust out of the students and electrifying them awake.

"Children, please," Goodwitch said as calmly as she could through narrowed eyes. "You have a big day today. Do not lay about. Get up—breakfast is being served, and I see _some_ of you had the wisdom to eat before your initiation."

She looked pointedly at the Torques.

"Try not to get crumbs on the floor. The cleaners will have fit."

In the same swift way that she entered, the professor turned around and exited. What she left behind were stares and glares aimed at the siblings, a pairing that seemed to go together quite often at Beacon—or rather, in the public world. Some people just automatically hated.

 _Eminence_.

Tyson smirked at said boy and received a fist shake in response.

Ted, instead, turned his charming gaze, and shirtless self, towards the nobler deed of wooing. He winked at a few ladies, a braggart in his prime. Arms flexed to show off the highly toned byes-and-tries; they are the bread and butter of any successful heart thumping victory over the opposite sex.

His eyes fell on Crista and Lilac, both uninterested in the free gun show. Frowning, he filed the failure away; those two needed a whole other battle plan. The usual methods were garbage compared to their stone-cold ignorance. Even Weiss couldn't resist a looksie. Oh yes, he knew. He saw those treacherous eyes.

Don't say he don't know.

Ted muttered something inaudible and went back to his organization, mentally noting that point on his to-do list. Usually the thing stayed empty, but when desperate times called for desperate measures, things had to be remembered, and in this emergency, the "had" was upgraded to a "need." It was of utmost importance to woo those two girls. But first, he needed to start off small. Objective one: make the chicks blush or laugh. He even scrawled it down on a notepad tucked away in a front pocket of his bag.

What use was paper and pencil, if not for recalling such crucial goals?

Is he right, or is he right?

Smiling at his devious agenda, Ted went back to work, sorting out what he needed for the oncoming event. He ignored Tina's annoyed huffs and looks. They all bore the same message, and he didn't need to ask to know her thoughts; every expression on her face were ones that he tried out before, only slightly different by the way her lips thinned into a straight line. Doing so would only make him look less attractive.

 _Hint hint_.

When he finished, Ted gave two thumbs up to his siblings. Together, they marched out of the ballroom and towards the cafeteria where they grabbed drinks, grouped with friends and attempted to fit in, blue hair dead giveaways in a sea of colors. Before too long, they were in the locker rooms, storing away their unnecessary items in preparation for the trial.

Rumors of teams floated around them during these proceedings, and curiosity peaked in every student. Already the talks were dominated by the topic. The more conniving were scheming among themselves, ready to create the ultimate team wherein dominance was decided by fame, fortune, and past experiences.

There was one girl who wasn't so sure about this entire thing, and no doubt lay in her mind the importance of finding at least _one_ person who would be her teammate. How to do that was another matter altogether.

* * *

Iris blinked owlishly behind a metal locker door, one bright, fuschia eye trained on Tina. She squeezed the handle anxiously, wetting her lips in preparation for conversation. The Torque was currently talking with her brothers, equipping weapons from inside her bags. A bow was held in one hand and a white-blue quiver adorned her back, various arrows sticking out like a royal headdress. The rough and wild equipment type didn't match Tina's feminine dress, but somehow, she managed to pull off a stunning look. It was evident when the gaze of several boys fell on her, stayed, and would only vanish when Ted, Tommy or Tyson looked their way.

One was even so bold to wink roguishly. He had an innocent and friendly enough face, but there was a hint of malice that Iris detected from his being, his Aura appearing inherently darker. She felt the tug in her gut, a hard yank that made her instantly wary. The energy that he exuded contradicted the smile he wore, and it certainly did not help that his yellow eyes were narrowed into squinting slits. Short cut green hair dropped long bangs over his forehead and obscured about half his face. A short-sleeved yellow hoodie, sliced along its middle axis, revealed a dress shirt that was neatly pressed. The outfit was finished off by black slacks, yellow boots and two metal plates fitted over his biceps. A fedora sat on his head.

He gave another wink that made Iris freeze. There it was again, that malicious flash. It took two glares from Ted and Tyson for him to turn his gaze away, and even after doing so, he acted cocky about it, loudly proclaiming to his friends the amazing figure and nice shapely body that the Torque girl meticulously maintained. It was obnoxious, but there was no denying her fame.

With that much popularity, Iris wasn't sure what to do. How could she talk to her? She—she... she couldn't! Oh who was she kidding?! The interaction on the airship was a fluke, a major anomaly. There was no way she could talk to her. No way at all! Her fist trembled on its grip of the locker. The lines she came up with now sounded awful in the presence of such renown. Something like, "Hi, can we be friends?" would not fly. The zaffre-haired chick was in a social niche far and remote from Iris' and opening with that greeting was totally lame.

Nerves nipped angrily at her heartstrings as she tried to play out a second idea in her head. She would walk over, hold herself confidently high, and then she would say something like, "I'm Iris. Remember me? We should be on the same team."

But was that too direct? She thought that sounded too direct. She was sure it was too direct. She needed to lessen the directness. She couldn't start with _that_.

Oh no, she is so lame…

Pressing herself back into the locker, which would have perfectly cocooned her body, the snow leopard Faunus clutched her hands to her chest. Her mind was blank; she had nothing else to use other than those measly phrases, akin to a needy call for attention. That wasn't her intention though! She thought she could reach out and try for that friendship that Tina offered, but now—now it looked like she was too busy to remember little ol' Iris. They hadn't talked once after the first meeting. It was all her fault really, she was sure of it. She was too lame for someone like Tina, too uncool. Too weird. She just wanted someone to talk to.

Okay, there _was_ that one grinning brother who complimented her during breakfast, but he wasn't _really_ talking to her. "Nice PJs," Ted had said. She remembered dropping her toast and running away. Then she immediately changed before spending fifteen minutes in the bathroom stall, gathering her courage to go grab another bite.

Iris looked down at her basic outfit, wondering if maybe her look was wrong. She knew she was shy, that much was obvious, but perhaps there was a bigger problem. Was it something with her outfit? Or perhaps people didn't like pink? Self consciously, she tugged at the bottom of her sweater. Auntie's words ran through her mind:

 _Outward appearance has nothing to do with building a friendship. It's your abilities inside that count._

But what abilities did she have besides staring and remaining stock still while floating precariously millions of miles above the air? She said exactly two words—two words! That was better than her first time on an airship. Back then, she said nothing at all, refusing to look at anything other than the floor for fear that she would inexplicably fall out of space. She had improved, sure, but not by much. Auntie Neith would be so disappointed.

Another spike of sadness shot down her spine.

Sticking a finger into her mouth, Iris chewed distractedly on a nail. She had no other ideas, no other potential friend candidates, except for the two bat Faunus girls. Then again, they didn't talk to each other at all. Not really. You couldn't count a smile as talking. They were probably too good for her too.

She wracked her brain for something else. The airship landing scene flashed back; at the thought of Tyson's arms on hers, a huge blush colored her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook herself rapidly, curling her tail into a bundle.

 _'I mean... he was..._ kinda _nice. He caught me and stuff...'_

She blushed even harder and shot her hands up to madly rub at her cheeks. No no! It was an accident. That's it. He was being polite. That was all. Auntie called it chivalry when a man opened a door for a woman, so this must also be chivalry when a man catches a woman as she careens drunkenly around from an assault of hiccups. That was it. Simply it. She was surely convinced of such a thing. Besides, he probably wanted to be partners with his brothers. They looked much better equipped than her.

That depressing thought sank into her head, and Iris hunched her shoulders. Erumed hung meekly inside the locker, and she pulled it out with a frown. It paled in comparison to the bladed bow that Tina had, the intricately decorated baton she wore across her hip and overall, the pink book bag looked lame in every way. Sure she knew it was stylish and a designer item because of its creator, but who would know that her very weapon was the backpack itself? And who would care? Iris's bottom lip quivered as the self deprecating thoughts physically weighed down her body; she shrunk and wished the ground would swallow her up.

Too focused on her own woes, she didn't register the two different footsteps that approached her hiding spot. Tina and Carter, having noticed the prying eyes on their backs, approached where the pink clad girl secluded herself, carefully stepping so as not to frighten her. They arrived to see Iris shoved tight into the locker, hugging her Meiosis. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and raspy breaths escaped her body. The two girls looked at each other and agreed mentally to be as gentle as possible.

Violet Marcelles Carter was the first to speak, daringly taking the plunge. "Hello Iris. My name is Violet, but you can call me Carter."

Her abrupt and energetic voice shocked Iris back to reality; she released a squeak and raised Erumed to cover her face. Inadvertently, she revealed a swirling sun, the polygons breaking up the emblem that formed half inch grooves in the three and half inch thick material.

"And it's me, Tina," Tina offered. She looked worriedly at her friend. "We saw you alone, and thought we would come say hello. How did you sleep last night?"

Iris wanted to say: "Very well, thank you very much, how did you sleep?" But she couldn't because her throat suddenly dried up, and her lips swelled. She gave a small whimper, terrified that they would be offended by her impolite silence. That entrenched her shyness, a problem for both parties.

"I also want to apologize for Eminence. He made a huge scene yesterday, and I am sorry. I should have stopped him sooner were it not for my own annoyance." There was a bow that the Torque fully performed. "I regret not having done so," her voice said with much more formality than normal.

Simply speaking, the apology was automatically accepted. Iris knew it wasn't her fault, but again, she could not manage a sound that was understandable. She wanted to say that it was no problem, that Eminence was being a bully, and that everything was dealt with in the end; that no problem actually resulted. He yelled a bunch of things that turned out to be wrong. He was also very loud and scared the bejesus out of Iris, but she was safely tucked under her soft, woolen blanket to worry about it.

But of course, none of those words came out

The answering hum got jammed into her throat and ended up as a bull-like grunt. It shot lowly out of her nose, causing her eyes to flare in surprise, also not contributing to her image. Oh dear, why was this happening? Could she not utter a sentence? She—she... she shook in her spot, and her teeth bit down hard over her tongue, stopping the muscle from forming syllables and drawing some blood. The metallic tang lingered in her throat for a few seconds before healing by her Aura.

While all this occurred, Carter was looking over the pink-sun-girl with pity and sorrow. Her actions were that of a blushing toddler. Overly protected by the arms of supportive parents and naive, she painted a picture of weakness and timidity. Truth be told, Carter could not see her in a fight. No offense to Iris, but she did not seem like the warrior type. Passing the initial entrance exam did not give much weight. The silence for her questions allowed Carter to inject more cons to the case, sinking deeper into a conclusion that having Iris on any team other than hers was a blessing.

Being shy wasn't even the word to describe this girl; she was mortified, appearing to be stricken with stage fright even without the large crowd. Determination reflected in Carter's eyes as she looked at Tina who clearly wanted to try.

 _'Got anything?'_ her questioning hand said.

 _'Nothing,'_ came an expected grimace. What were they to do?

Last time, Tina got a response by talking about the book bag, but her fashion topic was shot down faster than Vomit Boy's—she overheard he was called Jaune—flirtatious attempts at Weiss. Their odds of getting a sentence was even slimmer than that. So something must be especially interesting to incite an answer.

"We were also thinking," she began, hoping that Carter wouldn't object, "that with the prospect of creating teams, you might want to group up with us. I am positive you have valuable skills to bring to the table. Plus, we can all be roommates and best friends!" She ended the invite with an incentive and a brilliant smile, radiating goodwill.

Carter, however, balked at the comment. She tugged at Tina's arm adamantly, but her new friend resisted. She tried pulling harder, but still she was resisted. Again she tugged, and Tina rounded on her with a large frown.

"Yes?"

"Could we… talk about this first?" She nodded her head to the side. "Privately?"

"No, go with it okay?" The Torque lowered her voice. "Trust me."

"But Tina—"

"No buts."

She gave Carter a finger wag and gracefully spun around, a smile on her face. "It would be great if you join us," she repeated, hoping that her words registered.

"Uh, yeah," parroted the second girl. She ruefully ran a hand through her hair. "It'll be fun. We could hang out and stuff."

Iris stared unblinkingly at them while a small grin formed behind Erumed. She replayed the invitation in her head several times and gobbled up each line greedily, completely happy that they would want her on their team. But a small part of her lingered cynically at the hesitation the two had about her participation. The little spout was not missed to her eyes, and she could feel the power of mean popular girls rearing its head behind a facade of friendship. One semester at Signal was all she needed to know the mistake of joining one of those entourages. Rumors had spread, and she could still remember the nasty comments.

Fortunately, this was not Signal where the adolescent mind gave way to exclusionary acts. Iris reminded herself that this was Beacon, an elite combat and Hunter training academy. The environment was different, the people different. Twice she was approached and not the other way around. Did that not speak volumes of this school? It would not hurt to give it a shot.

She lowered Erumed and nodded her agreement. One tiny motion, and the deal was sealed. Tina squealed her approval. "Oh my dust, yay! That's so awesome!" She clapped her hands and jumped up and down. Beckoning, she stepped back to allow Iris space to leave the locker.

Carter sighed as the girl gingerly stepped out, the makeshift shield still held relatively high in front of her face. If this was it, she supposed she could deal with it. Iris didn't look too bad a friend, but in a fight, they might have some useless baggage. Okay, she shouldn't use that phrase, but you know what she meant.

"Cool. Don't you worry Iris, we're going to have a great time this year."

Another nod.

No longer petrified, the pink-loving girl stood in front of her two new "friends"—please oh please make it so—and straightened herself upright. Immediately, the differences in height could be seen. Carter was the shortest of the three, coming to about five foot four. Next was the Faunus who was about five foot five. In fact, her actual size gave Tina a small shock; she was tall! The Torque only beat her by five inches. She then reverted to her old hunched over self, knees bent slightly and head tucked down. Awkwardness seeped out of her and infiltrated the air around them. There was a pause, a long lull that gave Iris time to look over Carter.

She too sported violet hair—it seemed that everyone did—but it was a slight bit darker than Lilac and a bit lighter than Eminence, that howling and screaming man that so scared Iris last night. The strands formed wavy curls that fell down her back, short, clean bangs somewhat covering her neat eyebrows. Apparently blue eyes matched with purple because Carter's were of the sky-blue kind, face and skin lightly tanned.

For clothing, she sported a black, baggy, short-sleeved shirt with a grey windbreaker tied securely around her waist. Carter had her hands on her hips, on top of her dark green cargo-like capri pants that stopped around mid-shin. A few inches of skin showed above her ankles and black combat boots. Two sleek black tonfas hung from her thighs, one muzzle at the long end and one at the joint where the handle joined the guard. Iris spotted a trigger on the handle as well as a magazine extended from the bottom.

Carter spotted her laser stare, and she grinned. So the girl had an eye for weapons. Nice. Maybe this won't be that bad. Her hands quickly drew the tonfas. "They're pretty cool huh? I call 'em Lapse and Render. These babies are .44 magnums. I made them myself."

Nod. Nod nod. Yes, they _were_ pretty cool. She jiggled Erumed up and down in agreement.

"What about you? What weapon do you have?"

The simple question caught Iris off guard, and thoughts of inadequacy popped back into existence like weasels out of burrows. Sniffing, she tightened her grip on the leather strap at the top of Erumed and offered it out. As soon as Carter took it, the bag sagged, looking even lamer than before. A blob of month old gelatin, lame and inedible, it appeared completely useless.

Hiding was starting to sound like a pretty good option right now.

"Oh cool. This looks awesome. What's it do?"

' _Nothing…'_

The item was turned round and round as curious eyes from both girls carefully examined it. Tina saw it earlier, but she wasn't actually expecting it to be a weapon. She thought the weapon was inside.

"Does it transform into body armor?"

Shake shake. It wasn't _that_ cool. She wished it was _that_ cool. It was a backpack, her Erumed, a gift from Auntie. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. It was lame, lamer, lamest. Just like her.

Her hands made a view pointless gestures, trying to initiate some sort of word-creating process with her mouth. Luckily, Iris was saved the embarrassment of explaining her weapon's lack of awesome functions when Glynda's disembodied voice spoke over the speakers.

"Would all first year students please report to Beacon Cliff for initiation? Again, all first year students report to Beacon Cliff immediately."

"Oh! That's our cue."

Carter quickly grabbed the lifeline and handed back the bag to dispel the suffocating awkwardness. Her spirited nature freed itself and decided on a bold move: she reached out for Iris' wrist, latched onto it, and with a hard yank, hauled her and Tina towards the exit. Her words came out in a flurry.

"Come on come on come on come on come on! We gotta go, we gotta go! Hurry!"

Whisking them to the doors, she felt Iris spasm in her grip. The obvious hint was ignored and sacrificed for the rapid way they ran for the cliffs. Carter was a train trucking along with two passengers, one willing and one not. Banging her feet a few times on random rocks and tree roots that they passed, Violet took charge of the group. It took them no time at all with her lively sprint. Glynda and Ozpin were already there; one curiously eyed the helpless Faunus while the other clicked her tongue.

"You're surprisingly early today," the witch commented snippily. "Very well. Please stand on a platform. We will wait for the other students to arrive before starting."

Nodding diligently three times, Carter finally let go of their arms. Tina rubbed at the semi-bruised region in a whiny voice. "What was that for?"

"That's because you were being slow," came a cheeky answer.

"I was not," Tina mumbled. She looked over to see Iris' quivering eyes, staring intensely at them. The Faunus looked away when she was caught and hunched up her shoulders. Her feet bunched up together, and she tugged on the Meiosis' straps. Her gaze looked at the ground.

Tina cursed and waved at Carter. Go on, do something, she motioned. There was a nod of understanding. "Hey Iris? Sorry about that. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Iris shook her head and looked down at her feet. It was okay. She was surprised is all. She gave a weak smile to ease their worries. _'It's alright. You didn't mean it.'_ She sniffed and kicked a pebble away.

"Phew, okay. Just making sure."

Any further words were cut off by a rowdy cheer. A group of people, led by nobody other than the mighty Ted, trooped into the small clearing. He and Ramses were locked with arms on shoulders, head thrown back to carol some song they heard on the radio. The two lady-killers swayed back and forth in off-tune harmony, a sight to behold on a dewy morning.

"'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood! You know it used to be mad love, so take a look at what you've done! 'Cause babbbbyyyyy! We gooootttt maaaddddd loooovvvveee!"

Voices raised into a tremendous volume and shook with musical fever. They would have continued were it not for the sight of two professors, staring at them with differing expression. As one, they clammed up.

"Children," Glynda impatiently grinded out from her teeth. "Be more mature. Please."

Ozpin smirked enigmatically behind his coffee mug.

There was a short pause that entailed both Ted and Ramses alternating looks at each other and at the teachers. Ted looked at Glynda. Ramses looked at Glynda. They both looked at Ozpin. Then they looked at each other. The back and forth lasted a good twenty seconds. Then Ted decided to break the silence.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Uh… yeah. We—uh, yeah we're uh… we're here. All—all of us. We're all here." Ted waved to the cohort behind him. "I, uh, I made sure of it."

"And we're on time!" Ramses added with a wide triumphant smile. He turned to give Ted a fist bump. Unfortunately, it was denied.

"I see that." Glynda crossed her arms totally giving off the I'm-not-amused vibe. So instead of trying to explain themselves to her, the two meandered their way forwards, leaving the rest of the party to join them. On the way, the two lady-killers gave Carter the time tested, tried and true once over with half-lidded _sizzling_ eyes.

"Howdy." Ted winked at her.

"What up?" Ramses bounced his eyebrows.

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "Could we get started please?"

Ozpin inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Yes. Let us begin." Slowly he walked in front of the students. Conversation died down, and all eyes focused solely on the headmaster. "For years, you have trained to become warriors, and today your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest."

"Now," Goodwitch continued, "I'm sure many of you have heard the assignment of teams. Well, allow us to put an end to your confusion. Each of you will be given teammates. Today." Her green eyes, having made contact with the students as she talked, inexplicably landed on Iris. The girl inhaled sharply.

"These teammates will be with you for the rest of your time here at Beacon," Ozpin went on, "so it is in your best interest to be paired with someone with whom you can work well. That being said, the first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years."

"What?!" came an incredulous cry. Somewhere in the universe, glass shattered.

Iris wholeheartedly agreed. Her knees trembled at the unfair decision. There went the guaranteed chances with Tina and Carter. There was no way she could lay her eyes on them. There were so many students. Mathematically, the probability was extremely slim.

"After you've partnered up," Ozpin went on, "make your way to the northern end of the Forest. You will meet opposition along the way. Do not hesitate to destroy everything in your path or you _will_ die."

"Oh great," Tyson said rather loudly. Glynda's glare shut him down.

"You will be monitored and graded for the duration of your initiation, but our instructors will not intervene. You will find an abandoned temple at the end of the path containing several relics. Each pair must choose one and return to the top of the cliff. We will guard that item, as well as your standing, and grade you appropriately." He paused.

"Are there any questions?"

Poor Jaune decided to try and ask. "Yeah, um, sir?"

"Good! Now, take your positions."

At his command, Iris knew it was time to focus. She breathed in several breaths to try her best to calm her racing, marathoning heart. Now was no longer the time to be her lame self. She had one shot to find Tina and Carter, and there was no way she was going to fail. Releasing the tension that had built up during Ozpin's speech, the leopard Faunus shifted her stance a little lower. If there was one good thing about being shy, it was the fact that you were almost always ready to either flee or fight, though she was hoping for enough courage to do the latter. Her feet wiggled outwards a bit to steady herself, and her furry tail trembled.

She watched in terror as a student was rocketed high into the air.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no!

No no no!

Oh dear oh dear oh dear!

Her calm dissipated and got replaced by full on panic. She gasped raspily when another person down the line flew skywards. Then there was another and another and another and another _and another_. She was frozen in place while the numbers slowly ticked down. Already she could see her own demise.

' _Please… please no…'_

Anything but heights.

"Relax." A voice cut through the fog that clouded her mind. She inched her eyes over and gasped when she saw who it was: Ted. _'No no no. Not now… Please… go away…'_

But this Ted was not the Ted from earlier. It was not the Ted from last night. It was not the Ted from the day previous. Gone was the flirt. Gone was the shirtless teen flexing his pecs at ever girl. There now stood a poster boy image of Torque Securities, the perfect bodyguard and protector. His smile was confident and reassuring.

"Make sure to breathe. Everything will be fine. You've trained for this right?"

She nodded about a millimeter.

"Then you should be fine. Focus on your training. Don't even think about what's happening. Just react alright? You'll do excellently." He blinked playfully. "Think of it as a game. You're going up, then down. Not a problem, and when you land, you'll be safe, okay?"

She nodded another millimeter.

"Good. See you down there."

And with that, he leapt, combining his momentum with the spring of the platform. She barely had a second to watch him go when she too was thrown into the sky. Her stomach twisted and twirled in nauseating somersaults. The world spiraled out of control, and the only thought in her mind was how hard she would hit the ground, ending her miserably lame existence with a splat.

* * *

 **How'd you guys like that chapter? Poor Iris. xD She's too shy for her own good. This chapter was meant to develop her more as a character and especially highlight a few key points about her character. Also, see if you guys can guess what the Meiosis backpack does. :P Those who I've told, don't spoil it! xD Let the others get a chance to figure it out. Also, tell me how this chapter went in terms of flow. Was it smooth and roll easily off the tongue? Or was it choppy? Post a review and tell me what you think!**


	6. Grimm Growth

**Hey guys! xD Long time no see! I've been busy. Anyways, here's a brand new chapter, and hopefully, you'll see a few things interesting about a certain Torque and his new partner. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. It belongs to Monty Oum (RIP) and RoosterTeeth. I only own my OCs and even they are in a borrowed universe.**

* * *

 **Grimm Growth**

Blood.

It could smell blood. Human blood. Faunus blood. Mixed blood. Blood pure from generations past. There was an unearthly stench emanating from man's body, and it could feel those souls leaking from their inner being, full of life and joy. How wretched must a creature be to possess such hope?

Yet, the smells were shadowed by their ever present bosom buddies. Fused with the light was the current darkness. The scents combined with anxiety, fear and unease, a sweet nectar that tickled its nose and made it giddy. The beast greedily licked its chops. Excitement coursed through a primal mind spurred by hunger. Time passed too quickly from its last two-leg meal, and the louder the noises got, the hungrier it became. Each whoop, each holler, dug another pit in its stomach, no longer sated by mere forest fodder. Rabbits, deer—they were appetizers and side dishes compared to man. And today, it shall feast.

Behind the monster stood ready a pack of comrades; like clockwork, the Grimm were prepared for initiation. Like clockwork, they revealed themselves. While the Nevermores took to the skies, the Ursas to their territories, and the Death Stalkers to their caverns, the Beowulfs roamed the forest. He was their leader, a larger, scarred, more ferocious wulf whose intelligence was spoken through keen, deep red eyes. Armor was strewn on his body, bony plates that covered his snout, his throat, and down to his shoulders. Hind legs were decorated by glowing red marks that pulsed with each heartbeat. His front arms were massive, thick sinewy limbs adorned with foot long claws. They were wickedly curved and barbed, deadly weapons not seen on other wulves.

When he crouched, back muscles undulated in powerful waves.

Sniff, went the nose as a new scent wafted to its nostrils. The combination of milk, cheese, and toasted bread stood starkly from the earthen forest it called home. This smell was close, very close. And it was a young one, an adolescent compared to the sixty odd years it was alive. Drool dripped down its maw in slimy, sticky bundles. The alpha raised its head to the invisible moon.

And howled.

 _Hrrrooowwwrrr!_

* * *

Getting launched from a catapult, and tossed quite literally to the wolves, was _not_ what Tyson considered a fun time. Rarely is getting potentially torn to shreds his cup of tea. Now granted, Ozpin may have some _grand_ reason for sending them to their deaths, but he was _not_ buying it.

So it wasn't really much of a shock that a loud, piercing wail would break through the canopy to grace the universe with its impending presence. He half expected a horde of Ursa to follow, thundering through the underbrush, an army of darkness here to devour their intestines. He looked up from his spot by a trickling brook and glanced towards the sound. The holographic screen that cast a light blue shadow over his face vanished as he stood up, breaking into a sprint towards the closest patch of trees.

"See," he griped and scrambled up the chipped bark, noticing the claw marks at chest height, a very clear, ominous sign of death, despair, and possibly destruction; the three D's that you almost always wanted to avoid. "Maybe I'm not feeling the whole—Beacon pride, but I was _really hoping_ that Dimitryus was wrong." He rolled his eyes and continued upwards. At the peak, the teen pressed his back against the bark, a shudder racing down his spine.

"Dust, I'm going to strangle Captain Murphy."

And he was having such a nice stroll too.

Now, normally, he wouldn't be too jumpy, or aggravated, at a simple howl. The only problem was the caliber of that howl. It was _different_ and not different in a good way. He wracked his brain for a recording of the noise, trying to put a name to the sound.

"Definitely Beowulf," he decided and closed his eyes. Sorting through his memory banks, he frowned. "Or Saberclaw. Wait, no. That's a roar, not a howl. Dust, focus, you're under siege here."

Shaking his head, the eldest Torque cleared his mind. He couldn't place it, but he _knew_ that the howl was familiar. The way it stretched out, tumbled and dove from low to high, the way it ended aggressively and abruptly—it reminded him of something. Something dangerous. The fingers on his hands twitched madly, clenching and unclenching in high-strung anxiety.

"Breathe," Tyson mumbled to himself and slowly swiveled his head around the trunk. He did it a few inches at a time, a snail's pace that took him twenty seconds just to get his eyes clear. Underneath the blue-tinted sports glasses over his face, indigo orbs blinked three times in rapid succession, activating the infrared lenses.

It worked like any other old-school device, splitting heat into different levels. While some may believe that Grimm were shells, constructs of deceased beasts transformed by the essence of evil, others thought that they were tortured animals come back to seek vengeance on their aggressors. And though these two theories were disproved by modern science, still some superstition tells of men's sins, the Grimm a specter of our wrongs.

Well, whichever theory one chose, there was one thing that Tyson knew was constant: those things breathed, breathing creatures change the temperature, and that difference would not go unnoticed in the fall air.

The teen quickly scanned the area, doing the customary swift sweep for anything obvious. Nothing. Nothing massive, nothing outright dangerous. On the second sweep, he slowly went in small increments, sectoring out chunks and looking for the temperature drop between a tree and a demon from the netherworld. The drama was only as heart pounding as the blood hammering through his skull. And he really wanted to keep it there.

His gaze suddenly clicked to the right as something dark purple lumbered into view. It was followed by three other forms, crouched and hunched over in signature Beowulf form. The immediate vicinity, what once was a swirl of green and red, now slowly became darker and darker. The Grimm were vacuums for the heat, sucking away the warmth to leave behind an aura of cold, a freeze that sent another shiver down Tyson's back. His face twitched slightly, and he continued his scan, hoping that no other Beowulfs would join their friends. It took another minute, but Tyson confirmed the semi-good news.

They were the only ones.

For a few seconds, he paused and the pages upon pages of field data that the company acquired filtered through his mind. "Advanced troops?" he mused. Could be. They looked slim enough, tough, stringy. He had read of scouts in packs, and these bums fit the bill. He watched the first one sniff the air and gesture with its head, commanding the others to split apart. Such marvelous intelligence was dampened by their bloodthirsty drive to eat human flesh.

" _Great_. Well, I didn't plan on doing anything else today." Rolling his eyes, he peered around the left side of the trunk and did another scan. Luckily, he found nothing, but that didn't ease the rapidly oscillating muscles around his cheeks. The grin he forced on to his face turned into a twitching smirk and finally settled on a gruesome grimace, turning the young teen's face into a freakish clown.

"Four uglies and no backup. Joy." His hands strayed near his thighs and grasped the two pistols that hung in his pants. The built in holsters were a unique design among the Torques; only Tyson had them directly sown and fit into the material. They trembled with his palm, which refused to stop shaking; forefingers unconsciously tapped a beat along the sandpaper-like, white grip.

" _Greeaaattttt_ …"

Shaking lingering thoughts away, the eldest brother inhaled deeply and let his training sink into his mind. Remaining undetected was no longer an option. The moment his feet hit the dirt, the Grimm would attack. Glancing back, he noticed that the closest was ten meters away, ample pouncing distance for the average Beowulf. Tracing the falcon head engraved on to the other side of his pistols, Tyson drew them in one motion, swiftly and without a sound. The embedded nano-scanners scanned his palm and freed the safeties.

Dubbed Peregrines, each handgun was handcrafted using Torque Securities' resources, combining state-of-the-art, resilient, carbon-enhanced metals with nearly frictionless parts. The triangularly concave barrel merged with a matching frame just above the grip where it transitioned into the main body. Next to the take down lever was a round, glassy hole, a miniature camera lens with a button directly opposite the other side. Two magazines could be loaded into the pistol, side by side, and toggled by a switch directly above the grip. The two guns were both indigo, interweaved with swirling cerulean waves, intended to mimic the icy air of a early morning dive.

Tyson breathed in again as the last of his quaking muscles eased to a standstill. His eyes narrowed; and he stepped out, fluidly dropped to the ground and flipped the switch.

 _Boom!_

A dust bullet rocketed out of Peregrine I, and the Beowulf's head exploded into fiery chunks. Its half blood, half dissolving black gunk splattered around him, and a wild thrill soared through his stomach. He aimed Peregrine II at the next creature. It took an icy blast to the chest and fiery bolt through the throat. A smoky cloud of heat and cold floated upwards, and the body fell face first into the dirt.

Attracted by death, the remaining two wulves raced towards their attacker. Tyson changed the toggle again, switching to normal bullets. He sheathed one gun and gripped the other steadily, eyes down the sight. _Bam bam!_ Two bullets zipped into a skull and lodged themselves at the rear. Then he swiveled and placed four rapid shots in the second's chest.

 _Bam bam bam bam!_

There were fleshy squishing sounds that followed after, and holes appeared in the black meat, neatly clumped together near the heart, each no more than a centimeter apart. Wisps of black smoke exited the wounds. Both Grimm were dead before they stopped moving, the bodies tripping over their own clumsy joints, and the heavy thudding of moving corpses reverberated in his ears. The sickly smell of dying darkness permeated the air whilst the Torque stood at its center. His entire body was rocked with spasms, and the air inexplicably rose ten degrees. Then it dropped by five, rose again, then dropped again; a fluctuating coaster of heat and unheat, like someone was unsure between tropical climates or savanna conditions. The cycle was only broken when the spasms simmered to minor twitches.

Tyson released his held breath to calm his thumping heart and the furnace at the pit of his stomach. He blinked, and stars danced in his vision, a kaleidoscope of vertigo inducing colors. Peregrine I dropped wearily into its holster, and raising his indigo vambrace covered forearm, he pressed a button fit snugly between two metal plates.

Out popped the light blue hologram, a blank, gridded map of the Emerald Forest. He searched again for the three green dots that were his quadruplets. None showed, and that same discouraging scrunch in his intestines forced an eye roll to escape its carefully restrained prison. Things only went from bad to worse when the screen went gray, completely blanking out the map. After a few seconds, two ominous words—No Signal—blinked back into a frown.

 _'Okay,_ now _I'm bitter.'_

The Torque sighed heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose to calm down the rampant rambunctious reactions reeling round in his head. Tilting his eyes to the sky, he simply shook to dispel the last of the adrenaline. Picking a random direction to jog, he fixed the white colored, leather strap that ran across his chest. It was attached to a dull blue sheath, and one of his hands reached up to ghost the hilt that poked out from his right shoulder.

' _Whatever,'_ he thought and pumped his arms. Tyson increased his speed and snorted.

' _So much for teams.'_

* * *

Two pinpoints of red flared up from the vegetation that surrounded the location of the latest two-leg massacre. Stepping from the shadows, it approached the four evaporating bodies that remained. The snout inhaled the noxious smells, and it snarled in disgust.

Agitatedly, it pawed at the ground.

More skilled warriors had fallen by the hand of man, and it could sense the awful stench that was left behind. It was sickening in its pervasiveness and suffocating in its energy. From body to body, the alpha smelt the fur, licked the wounds, and nudged almost caringly at the lifeless bodies. It seemed to have enough, growling, and returning to where the first wulf had fallen. There, it bent down in lament. After a minute, it reared upright and turned around, an odd stiffness to its hunched, four-legged posture.

Soon the forest ate up its presence, and the only sign was the clawed print where the strongest human scent hung. At the center of that massive foot was a collection of brass colored item:

Bullet shells.

There were other ways to catch a two-leg.

* * *

Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear!

Iris glanced over her shoulders at the loud baying. She could hear their pounding feet as they raced after the pink-clad girl. Menacing shapes flitted in and out of her vision, and grass rustled forebodingly in the background. One hand clamped tightly down on her head, and the other grasped Erumed's strap. The girl flattened her ears under her pink beret, hair streaming out behind her.

' _Please go away! I didn't mean to bother you!'_

Not that she knew _how_ she bothered them. After all, all she did was wander around the forest for about ten minutes, get lost, run around like a chicken with its head off, and… then try to figure out where Tina was. She did not remember anything to do with Grimm. In fact, she had purposefully tried to be super stealthy to not attract their attention.

Perhaps they smelled her fear. She was really scared after all and being abandoned in a creepy forest was not helping her case. Iris crashed through a thorn bush, heart banging loudly on her ribs. She shouldered her way through leafy ferns as a pair of massive jaws soared out from the trees. The Grimm roared and flew towards her. Yelping, she jumped to avoid the attack, landing on the boughs of a mighty oak. Unfortunately, she did not escape unscathed. Her beret blew into the wind.

"HELP!" she screamed and staggered on her perch. "Someone, HELP!"

The branch creaked and swayed precariously. Iris jumped and bounced to the next platform, acrobatically landing foot after foot on branches barely wide enough to hold her flats. She steadily kept her gaze forwards, a confidence so evident that her first impression showed anything but. Each step was light and deft as the Faunus girl moved with simian grace. The stuttering barrage from earlier contrasted starkly against the determination reflected in her fuschia eyes.

Iris vaulted in a half-twist and landed on the y-split of a particularly large tree. She paused to catch her breath which had now come out in raspy, asthmatic intervals, the dry scraping of anaerobic lungs gasping for that valuable molecule. Auntie Neith flashed into her mind, the guardian's berating look sorely emphasized by her burning joints. She bent over and gripped her knees, softly apologizing for her ineptitude.

"I'm sorry Auntie," she whispered hoarsely. Her body sagged depressingly, and the weakness flashed across her face. What was she thinking? She was too lame to do this, too lame to be a Huntress. What chance did she even have on Tina's team?

Unfortunately, she didn't have time to whine about her ineptitude. Forcing her rebellious legs into motion, she pushed herself into another hard pace, one that she knew, somewhere in the recess of her deoxygenated mind, she couldn't maintain. But there were worse fates than cardiac arrest. If she was trying to be optimistic, which she was—she really was—being gobbled up in one munch wouldn't be so bad. It was easier that way; no need to be bothered with the body.

Consumed as she was by her own self-deprecating thoughts, Iris did not detect the sudden change in the balance of the forest. The dark energy she felt was duplicated, multiplied and amplified to a startling level. She only sensed its presence when it rammed right into her side, sending the two of them tumbling into the dirt.

"Oh de—" the words barely escaped her mouth when curved claws slashed at her face. She released a wrenching screech that sliced through the accompanying chorus of howls. Her face was raked by another attack and she bucked in shock. On instinct, the girl's right hand swiped across her attacker in a brain-clouded attempt at dislodging him.

 _Shiinnk!_

A light red mist of blood billowed from the wound as Iris scrambled backwards. She watched the Beowulf's eyes glaze over, and the limbs that contained her DNA, painted in scarlet, lifelessly dropped. From its throat protruded a hexagon, pink, and outlined by a steel-gray. Iris solemnly gestured with her hand, and the pulsing item, a makeshift glaive, like the beating heart of the Grimm she had slain, floated into her palm.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Two bloody streaks raced down her cheeks and were promptly swallowed up by a glimmer of her Aura. The girl straightened up, sensing another presence behind her. With a resigned breath, she gripped both of Erumed's straps and simultaneously pressed hidden triggers embedded in the durable pink straps.

 _Clink!_

 _Clinkclink!_

 _ClinkclinkclinkclinkclinkclinkCLINK!_

 _Ksseeee! Kssisss! Whum-whumm-whom-whum!_

A series of gears spun inside the pack, and a sound like air exhaust emanated from the Meiosis. The straps extended in width to cover her shoulders and sucked themselves into her form. The sun emblem made up by the polygons shimmered white, and very noticeably, one piece was missing.

Iris blinked owlishly as the hexagon floated next to her head.

* * *

Tyson had spotted the ancient ruins in the distance when the scream tore apart the air. He skidded to a stop and glanced around for its source. It sounded far off, and his first thought was to continue. But that was just the selfishness speaking, that little demon that sometimes snuck into his head. He was not above admitting it, but his priority always was his siblings.

And if they were headed to the ruins, then so should he. After all, the forest wasn't a safe place. You know—if that scream had anything to say.

Still though, he was a Torque, and if he was being completely honest, there was no way he could turn a blind eye. The shudders started up again as the young teen whipped around, amplifying his jog into a full on sprint. Then he clicked his heels hard. From within the sneakers, a reactor connected to the dust tray activated, shooting out a stream of fire that boosted the boy into the air.

 _Booooooosh! Thump!_

He landed and did it again.

 _Booooooosh! Thump! Booooooosh! Thump! Booooooosh! Thump!_

Trees zoomed beneath him like ants scurrying to the nearest picnic basket. Warm air whipped across his face, soft brushes of zephyrus hands that caressed his cheeks. Tyson let his eyes roam across the terrain, hoping to pick up hints of a fight, a struggle, anything to connect that scream to a horror that it represented in his mind. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No trace of Grimm. Not even people. Huh, that's weird. Where was everyone?

 _Thump!_

Tyson's feet hit the ground, and he carefully stood up. He found himself in a small clearing with few trees and tall grass. Immediately, cold assaulted his body. It wrapped around his arms, his legs, and snuck in between the fabric of his clothes. The feeling was intense and simultaneously shocking, sending wave after wave of shivers over his body. Walking forwards, he pushed up his shades and dropped a hand to his thigh. The forest was completely still, a foreboding presence that he tried to combat. Even as the temperature steadily increased around him, synchronous to the pounding in his head, the chill remained.

Each step he took, the colder it became, and the more that feeling seeped into his being. He felt… lonely. So… so lonely. His right hand tightened on Peregrine I as he continued to step through the invisible muck. A powerful force pulled him forwards and stuck doubt into his mind. He should've met someone by now. He should've been partnered up. What was he doing wandering out all alone? Why didn't he stick close to his siblings? Why did he come back? He was so close! The ruins were right there!

 _Scrucsh._

Huh?

It was a soft sound that cut through the fog tightening around his mind. It came from underneath him, and Tyson lifted up his foot to reveal a pink-colored object. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Please don't tell me that's what I think it is."

Reaching down, his hand closed around the beret. Covered in wood shavings, the accessory, sliced nearly in half, sat lifeless in his palm. The cute little flower stitched so delicately to the side by diminutive hands—or so he imagined—was shredded; the last proof of its existence a single petal that clung with its dying breath. Tyson brushed splinters out of the fabric, his lips curling grimly.

"Oh okay, _that's_ not ominous at all."

Rolling his eyes, Tyson pinched the bridge of his nose. He shook his head at the fantastic show of guardsmanship that was displayed. Fantastic. Way to freaking go. Four Torques and _this_ happens? Some bodyguards they were. He disgustedly spat to the side and stood up, placing a hand on his forehead and glaring into the sky.

Dust. Father was going to kill them.

"So, what, she's dead now?" he said aloud. "That's the universal consensus I'm getting here? Iris is dead. Okay Tyson, way to be a professional. No no, she can't be dead." He nodded adamantly. "No, she can't. So what if you find her little hat nearly sliced in half? Pfft, that could mean anything. Right?" Indigo eyes shot daggers at the beret. "No, the others would _never_ believe that. And I'm practically them, right?"

Right. This was no time for pessimism. That's what the Grimm wanted. That's why they flocked to this place. Obviously, they must've felt her fear, her hopelessness—that same emotion that suddenly welled up inside his intestines like a really badly cooked soufflé, courtesy of Tina. She really couldn't cook for her life.

This was the mission, wasn't it? Father must've sent them here for this. He _knew_ something like this would happen. He always knew. The Torques weren't just students. They were bodyguards, and a bodyguard is _never_ off duty.

' _So come on!'_ he yelled to himself. _'Focus! What's the first move? Think!'_

If Iris was alive, she would be fleeing. Logically. And if she was fleeing, then Grimm would be right behind her. All he needed to do was follow that despair. Follow the black, shattered, gravel road to Obsidian City, and there he will meet the grim King, who, if he's lucky, might point him to a pink-haired Faunus girl missing a beret. After all, optimism worked _so well_ in war times.

Gently, Tyson folded up the beaten cap and slid it ceremoniously into his pocket. Then he ran. Oh he ran and ran and ran. The rocket sneakers were long forgotten as the landscape bent into one continuum. The path was not hard to follow, and Tyson could imagine the scared Iris scrambling wildly for safety. Behind her were Grimm, clawing and biting and hissing for flesh. He didn't want to assume, but _come on_! Would anyone honestly believe that a girl like Iris could survive in this world? Shy, stuttering, frail, and hunched over, she did not paint a warrior's stature. Was he ignorant? Sure. Maybe. Debatable. But did _anyone_ honestly think otherwise?

Yeah, optimism wasn't his strong suit.

To be blunt, she was a puny rabbit cowering in its burrow as ferocious lions snarled outside. Tyson ran like a hound after a scent, the scenario playing on a theater wide screen. It was automatic to assume the worst, and these conjured images matched the gruesome reality that greeted him. There, among the trees and spread throughout the nooks and crannies of willows, oaks, and yews, black furred bodies, mangled in beaten in some way, lay in an impromptu graveyard of some unknown slaughter.

"What the hell?"

The teen gaped at the sight. Death crouched in the grass, on the dirt, and around the dark red stain creeping outwards around the corpses. There had to be at least two dozen and each were afflicted with grievous wounds. Raising an eyebrow at the piles, he stalked forwards.

"Iris?" he called out and stepped over an Ursa. His toes snubbed the beast's jaw. "Where are you! It's me, Tyson! Iris?"

There was no response, and he bit his lip. Not sure what to make of it, he kept moving. Daintily, he stepped over a third Beowulf that appeared to have been stabbed in the throat. Kneeling down, he ran a hand over the wound. "That's odd," the teen muttered and probed his fingers deeper. It was about three inches in depth and slanted in the strangest way. There were three distinct lines angled so strangely that a sword could not have done this. "Iris?" he called again, "Are you there? I really hope you did this, because if not…"

His voice trailed off at the obvious.

' _Stay optimistic, remember?'_

Wiping the slime from his fingers, Tyson stood up and approached an Ursa. It lay on its stomach with limbs splayed out like a snow angel. Grunting, he heaved it over, and just as he expected, there were pocked marks all over its torso. The wounds were all the same, except for two that were in its shoulder joints. These ones were triangular, ridged, and when he removed his fingers, it was encased in dried blood. Wiping it in the grass, Tyson stood up. His eyes followed the bodies; they formed a trail deeper into the forest and far away from the ruins.

Carefully, he advanced, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth, side to side, and even up into the trees in a blinding display of pure paranoia. He still could not shake the evil mosquito net draped above him. Instead, he focused on the Grimm. Good dust, there were so many, and each of them were in the same deplorable state as the two that he checked. A few were in worst conditions: one appeared to be sliced in half; another looked so flat that a pancake could float over it; and another had its arms missing, speared through the chest by a broken tree branch.

Tyson didn't know whether to hope that this was Iris' work, or pray that someone else had caused this damage. He could not imagine her harming something so… brutally. It was the only way to describe the kills.

Then the trail ended.

The eldest Torque found himself in a shaded clearing. A leafy canopy sent shades and disco-ball light beams filtering on to the forest floor. A prominent ray shone on to a black mass, mixed with white and red bony helmets, claws, and body armor. Tyson paused in his place to scan the area. His shades were back over his eyes, and he blinked thrice. Up came the infrared display, and his stomach fell straight into a bottomless hole. Everything was purple, blue, or simply black. There was absolutely no heat in front of him, and the only hint was the wisps of orange-red floating from his hands. Canceling the lens, he crunched his way towards the giant clump at the center. He didn't need to check to know what it was.

"Agh, dust." Pinching his nose, Tyson kicked a paw by his foot. "Damn it. Iris? Where are you?"

There was still no response.

"Iris! Come on, if you're here, say something!"

' _Don't be dead, okay? That would suck.'_

* * *

Iris lay quivering in complete inkiness, eyes tightly shut and tail wrapped securely around her body. Her teeth were clamped down on her tongue, lest she whimper out pitifully, ears pressed flat against her head. Both cheeks were freshly damp, tears leaking out from her lids. For now she was safe. How long that would last was something she did not know.

She was lucky to even shield herself, much less survive the attacks. The blood pouring steadily down her right shin was ample evidence at her failure to escape. All she could do was hide. It took all her concentration to remain cloaked. Exhaustion poured into her bones, and pain coursed through her legs.

Iris bit her tongue even harder.

 _'Please go away…'_ she thought tiredly. Another ounce of energy faded from her filling body. _'Just… just go away… I'm not here. I'm not here. I'm not here. I'm not here.'  
_  
These three words cycled through her head in a tumbling whirl. She was wracked by a spasm, her entire frail form rocked by the earthquake. Halfway through another plea, a voice thundered through the silence and jolted the girl from her fetal position. Her head snapped back, cracking against the nearby wall. Again she heard the voice and again she flinched. Her ears picked up footsteps.

"Seriously, don't be dead, okay?" the voice said. She heard its muffled dryness mixed with worry, a combination that made Iris perk up in curiosity. Waving a hand, a square detached from the space in front of her. A pair of legs moved past her window. Two seconds later, they returned. Whoever this was appeared to be obsessively pacing back and forth. She scrunched up her face at the red stains on the person's white pants.

"I know I might sound like a jerk, but if you're alive, do you mind coming out?" She moved the peephole upwards and spotted the very person that had caught her on the airship. Forgetting the searing fire in her leg, a blush bloomed on her cheeks. Tyson waved her beret in the air. "This here is a very bad representation of your health."

Iris suppressed a shuddering giggle, coughing up a metallic taste on her tongue. She swallowed the glob and shoved down her shyness, especially the butterflies that fluttered in her chest. Her gaze landed on Tyson as he crossed his arms, tapping his left foot. The sickly smell evaporating off the Grimm filtered into her hiding spot and entered her nostrils. Extra sensitive, her Faunus sense was soon covered by the stench. Willing herself upright, Iris drunkenly staggered to her feet.

She exhaled sharply at the sudden painful spike through her leg. When she looked up, two barrels were pointed directly in her face.

Tyson had pivoted the moment he heard the unknown noise. The hours upon hours he spent on perfecting his quick draw was shown when the two pistols seemed to leap from their sheaths and into his hands. His fingers were curved in a ready-to-fire position, and it was only with self restraint that he didn't pull the triggers. That and the fact that he had never seen anything like this in his entire life.

Right in front of him, like a cocoon, the air shimmered. A cascade of blinks and flips occurred as large polygons simultaneously appeared, pink and bright. Pulsing and appearing to turn solid, they broke apart from invisible attachments and hovered defensively around their queen, a dozen or so stoic guardians. Before, they had extended and bent to create the structure that so kept her alive. Now translucency of the material disappeared, returning to primarily hexagons and octagons. The snow leopard Faunus bit her lip and stared intently at the Torque. Her legs were crossed and her hands folded behind her back, slightly hunched and fully prepared for the berating that she was so used to.

What she did not expect was for him to rush forwards, shouldering off his sword sheathe and fumbling with a zipper attached to the strap. "Sit down," he commanded. "You're hurt. Don't move. It'll take a few seconds, but you'll be fine."

He knelt down and tore the side of the strap open. In it was a compartment where he pulled out gauze, bandages, three pairs of gloves, disinfectant wipes, heavy duty medical tape, and packets of painkilling salve. His hands flew over the items, and he made to reach for her shin. She pulled away with a tiny head shake. Waving her hand, the polygons began to shrink, floating back to her Erumed where they reattached themselves to the elastic back. The pieces covered a six-holed disk to re-form the designer backpack.

She inhaled to speak. "I-i-i-i-it's o-ok-k-k-kay." He reached again, and she batted the hand way. "I'm f-f-f-fine."

"Yeah," he responded, unconvinced, "that's crap and you know it. Come on, sit down before you pass out."

Tyson glared at her and jerked his pointer his finger downwards. "You're bleeding a massive puddle. You're lucky to be alive with all that trauma." When she finally did, he immediately lunged to swipe the disinfectant along her leg. The girl hissed painfully, eyes rolling back into her head as she bit her tongue. "Next time, use your Aura. Telekinesis won't keep you alive."

She shook her head and a hand unfortunately clamped down like a vice on his shoulder. Tears now flowed freely down her face. Blood swamped over his latex gloves while he worked, satisfied of the perceptual cleanliness and now going for the gauze. She mentally apologized for his inconvenience. She didn't mean to bleed all over the place.

"Come on Sunshine," Tyson said bluntly, "say something. Let me know you aren't dead."

"It's not... it's not t-telekine-s-sis... Aaahhh..." Her leg jerked as his thumb probed at the cut. "Ow! Ow… It h-hurts..."

"Of course it does. Now come on, try not to scream, unless, you know, you want more Grimm bearing down on us."

Iris nodded obediently. Her nails dug into his arms like claws. He ignored the poking for her own good; no doubt pointing it out would send her into another apologetic frenzy, increase her heart rate, pump more blood to her embarrassed face, and send another useful gallon of life down the drain.

"What's your semblance then?" he coaxed. He tore at the packets and smeared some goo into his palm. "Sure looked like telekinesis."

Iris couldn't maintain the eye contact, and she shyly slid fuschia orbs from indigo. That question was too personal, too direct; her ears wiggled nervously at such a blatant break in propriety. Semblances were highly guarded secrets to some Hunters and Huntresses. The most powerful a person could become surfaced through their semblance and to reveal it so easily was against the very code that Auntie Neith had instilled within her. But even as she debated the revelation, her leg suddenly felt painless and warm, the same feeling one gets in a bubble bath. She looked down and saw that the inflamed skin around the gash was back to its peachy color.

"You don't have to answer," Tyson said. He had a wry grin on an amused face. "But I distracted you long enough to put on the last touches. Your Aura should heal that up in a flash, though I honestly recommend you don't focus on hiding when you have a two and a half inch deep cut. I almost felt the bone, Iris. That's bad. Aura can only go so far."

"I-I know." She sniffed sadly and looked away. "I'm s-sorry for… c-causing you tr-trouble."

"Uh. Right." Tyson rolled his eyes at her incessant apologies. Snot and tears were all over her face; the girl was an absolute, disgusting mess. "How are you feeling now?"

Her toes wiggled in their flats, and she nodded demurely. She was fine, thank you.

"You know you _could_ say thanks," he added sarcastically. One eyebrow raised playfully. It was misinterpreted and sent the girl into a full on panic. Her cheeks flushed a solid magenta, and her palms quickly covered her face. On instinct, she tried to stand and flee, to get out of here; anywhere but here! She didn't mean to be rude! She was just—just—!

"Woah! Hey! Calm down." Tyson held his hands up placatingly. "It was a joke. Sarcasm. A jest. Just words, okay? You're fine." He gave an encouraging smile a slight bit better than the contortion he exhibited earlier. "Ack, right," the boy grunted. He brushed the dirt off his feet and clicked his tongue at the grime on his pant cuffs. "Let's get you to Tina, and I'll try to find out who killed all these Grimm."

The last part he said without thinking, without even _considering_ that it could have been Iris who slayed all these monsters. She froze, pausing momentarily, and carefully watched the young man crouch down. The recognition that she knew should be forthcoming did not come; it fizzled off in the air and exploded like a year old firecracker. Her head drooped back down again. Oh, so much for being hopeful. Toes wiggled in the muddy dirt, and Tyson dragged a half mangled Creep from the pile of dissipating corpses. He continued to talk, completely ignorant to her discomfort.

"Did you see who did it?" he said almost nonchalantly. "Whoever it is has a ton of firepower. 'Course, with you under that dome, you may not have seen it. How's that work anyways? I suppose dust. There's a clear type that can imitate stealth, but that'll need a ton of energy to magnify the transparency across an entire framework. Your pack would need to expel several thousand volts to even activate the cloak, and to maintain it, you'll need a steady supply off…"

She was staring at her feet when she realized that he had stopped speaking. Then two indigo sneakers poked into her vision; Tyson wanted to smack himself in the forehead. Dear Dust! He was _such_ a fool! That was why she couldn't heal. Everything made sense now: the wounds, the multiple entry points, the musky scent, and the way that she hid herself from the monsters. It all added up. Nudging her with a pointer finger, Tyson gestured for her to look up.

"Energy manipulation. That's your semblance."

Iris widened her eyes. "N-no?" she said questioningly, "T-that's not it!" The squeak in her voice only confirmed the fact. "I—that's not… I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes. You do. Don't try to hide it." He nudged her again. A grin was slowly widening on his face. He barked in laughter. "Because this? All of this?" Tyson waved to the devastation. "Is amazing. _You_ did this, right?"

She nodded mutely. She didn't feel amazing. She felt evil.

He simply stared at her. He pegged her wrong. Completely wrong. Entirely wrong. Extremely wrong. Overtly wrong. Hah, Father was going to have his head. What was the one rule? Never underestimate the enemy? Yeah, well, he kinda underestimated the Faunus girl didn't he? So much for professionalism.

But still, even as the truth, and a hidden lesson, dawned on his close-minded brain, that inner teenage selfishness finally got a hold of the Torque, sinking inwards an arrogance that would make a Schnee blush. The full gravity of the situation, and Ozpin's words, involving first sight and partnership, reared its ugly head, and he finally remembered the rules at play. The boy backed up; his face twitched with dim disappointment.

Iris saw the change and flinched hard. She stumbled a few paces away and knew exactly what went through his head: she was a liability.

' _Why do I even bother?'_ she thought dejectedly. The girl turned away from further rejection, one she knew he held inside him, whether or not he really wanted to admit it. Ozpin was wrong: not everyone was fit to be a Huntress. His flowery words were just that, wilted reminders of her inabilities. It was okay though; she never really expected to make it this far.

Tyson, on the other hand, realized too late his facial Freudian Slip. That childish need to form the ultimate team was quickly banished from his mind once he saw the girl's limp form. Her ears weren't even flat; they just hung their loosely, not even bothering to show sadness. Soon a powerfully intense feeling of worry surged through his chest, a rolling tide of nerve rattling stress. He watched her thumbs wiggle in their white-knuckled grip around the backpack's straps. They spoke more than anything as she awaited his be all, end all conclusion.

Clearing his throat, Tyson said, "Uh... Iris? I... uh... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have looked at you in that way." And he shouldn't have thought about it either.

She blinked.

"And I want to say that... if you want, I'll be more than happy to be your partner."

There was a long lull as the Faunus thought about his words. Technically, they were forced to be together already, so his proposition was meaningless. However, she had to admit that she was a weensy bit excited; technically, he did just ask her. Was that enough? Searching her own feelings, Iris knew that she couldn't stay mad. It wasn't in her nature; forgiveness was something Auntie Neith didn't need to teach her. She knew that by heart. So yes. Of course she would be his partner.

Tyson watched his new partner incline her head and giggle, looking up through her eyelashes. It was a move with unusual effects; what it did to him was criminal, and he pinched his nails into his palm to force a blush from rising. "That's i-if you want," he managed to blurt out before someone caught this all on paper.

"It's ergokinesis," Iris finally responded. She stuck out a sweater covered arm attached to a really really small hand. "S-scientific t-term."

"Heh, tell me about it then." Taking it, Tyson nodded to the dead things around them. "And tell me how this all went down. We've got a long walk to the ruins." Transitioning her hand to his shoulder, he let her lean into him, oblivious to the drum-like beating of her heart. "And just so we're on the same page…"

Leaning in, he whispered, "My semblance is…"

* * *

"That was a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Headmaster Ozpin gestured to the tablet being held by Glynda Goodwitch where the scene between Iris and Tyson was playing out. The silver-haired man with those stunning Potter sunglasses calmly sipped from his mug. There was a pleasant smile on his face when compared to the intense nature of his extreme hazing. His assistant was much less calm.

"Professor, Iris _nearly died_! I understand testing, but that is an extreme I believe we _cannot_ cross."

"She survived, did she not?" He swished the mug around. "Besides, now she has her partner, and if that Torque is anything like Zion, she'll be more than protected. Torques generally have a stubbornness not unlike the winds of Mistral. It never stops blowing."

"Yes yes, I understand. Even at the risk of her life."

"It's not that bad. Didn't you say so yourself: they're supposed to be the defenders of the world?"

"That's an ideal, Professor! They can't possibly be defenders when they're dead!"

"Keep your voice down, Glynda." Ozpin frowned and clicked to another screen where another Torque was easily handling an Ursa. The adults watched Ted carve up the monster with his two swords, performing a series of complex maneuvers and ending with a double kick to its frozen head. "Perhaps you've forgotten the effectiveness of this test?"

"Urgh, you're incorrigible! Fine." Glynda crossed her arms and looked away. "That reminds me: there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Remind me again why we are doing as Zion asks? It's not our tradition to take requests from parents about the assignment of their children's teams."

"Relax Glynda. You're too worked up." He turned a smirk to her pacing form. "I don't see why one request is worth so much sleep."

"I'm not losing sleep," she snapped. "I'm miffed. There's a difference."

"I've seen you miffed. That's not miffed. You're annoyed, perhaps slightly aggravated, but certainly not miffed."

"Oh alright—I'm upset. There, does that please you?" Her blazing green eyes glared daggers at Ozpin's annoying calm. He chuckled and took another sip.

"Only partially. What's the matter?"

"This whole scheme that Zion cooked up. I don't think it's the best way to deal with this situation. There is no reason why his children cannot remain on the same team; I'll say they're much more effective together."

"Hmm, perhaps. And perhaps they can only be effective so far. The jam worked wonders."

"Of course it did. Zion's technology always works. I still don't like it though. He's been relying too much on those things. I remember the days when it was just him and Yin, working with their wits and weapons alone, no technology, no special software, and certainly no _computer virus_ that can disable communications over a mile away."

"Times have changed, Glynda," Ozpin mildly waved his mug to express the continuation of progress. "The old will move for the new, and what is here now may not be here tomorrow. Zion can see that. He's a very adaptive man, which is why he _knows_ the importance of separating the quadruplets. I thought like you when I first read his letter, but after some consideration, I believe he is correct."

"Do tell."

"Those siblings are gifted," the Headmaster went on, "There's no doubt in that. Living up to such a grand name as Torque places many pressures on them, but unlike our other resident celebrity, Miss Schnee, they have each other. Every challenge they have faced with a united front, no threat impossible for the quadruplets. Within reason of course." Ozpin added the last part as an afterthought.

"Then it stands to reason that they _should_ be together," Glynda argued. "They have done everything together their entire lives; it would be foolish to split them up now."

"But that's precisely why it must be done. These boys, and girl, are not simply Tyson, Tommy, Ted and Tina. They're more so Torques than they are their individual selves. Tyson is Ted, Tommy is Tina, Tina is Tyson, and the whole is but a Torque; a single organism synchronized to the same wavelength."

He took a step towards the cliff and leaned on his cane. There was a long drag from his coffee as he turned one eye to peer at the witch. A soft, neutrally enigmatic smile floated on his lips.

"And that, Glynda, is the problem. Having worked together for so long, it is doubtful that they would be any more effective alone by themselves. Zion stated that even their semblances complimented each other. They are so similar that if we removed hair and eye color of the boys, you would not tell one from the other. They are a well-liked and commendable quartet, but it is time they broke from that and forged their own paths. That is why they must not meet each other. That is why they must find their own allies."

"And what of the trouble that will be caused?" Goodwitch crossed her arms, not satisfied until Ozpin, and indirectly Zion, were fully aware of the massive flaw to their scheme. "That Eminence child will be a massive problem if the four split. One of them is bound to find him; he is out for revenge. Not to mention the numerous other students who aren't so kind to their kind. Already the Schnee has shown aversion even to Tina."

"Ah, Eminence." Ozpin chuckled mysteriously. "I don't think its revenge, but that is not the subject at hand. And for the others—well, you are right. But also wrong." Glynda bared her teeth, and only Ozpin could correct her like that without repercussions. "Trouble will certainly follow them. I do not doubt that. What I doubt is their inability to deal with it. They would not be much of Torques if they yield so easily."

He shook his head. "No no, trouble will come, and unless they destroy it, they _will_ perish. This is how they will grow. They can't be quadruplets forever."

Glynda pursed her lips and for a few seconds, Ozpin thought she would counter with biting words. He braced himself for the torrent and was mildly surprised when she conceded. "I suppose you're right," she muttered. "I just don't like it. We should not be giving unfair privileges to wealthy people who ask, even if it is Zion." She glanced at her scroll and swiped to another screen where Ruby was seen sprinting at high speeds with a certain silver-haired girl on her tail.

" _Particularly_ , if it is Zion."

"He's an old friend," the man replied. He raised his mug and drained the rest of his drink. "I owe him at least this one thing. Besides, you'll find that the quadruplets will become much more powerful in their separation than union."

He paused to consider his next words.

"I believe that those four have hidden potential that will only be unlocked _outside_ of their comfort zone. Self discovery sometimes requires assistance, and it does not do to ask a sibling who looks exactly like you, and, for all intents and purposes, is you."

Glynda nodded and sighed. She agreed to his points, varied and conjectural as they were, and went back to monitoring the students' progress. There, in the Emerald Forest, destiny was slowly taking hold, ready to mold them into future Hunters and Huntresses. She was silent as the tendrils of fate twisted around each young soul trekking through the trees. After a while, she finally said:

"I suppose the first step is the relics. The last will be graduation."

Let us hope that they can all make it.

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 **Okay! What do you guys think? Leave your comments, please, and review! I've been gone for a while so this entire chapter might feel off. Rusty even. Don't be afraid to point out flaws. Thanks!**


	7. Pawns

**Hey guys! x3 New chapter. Long one too! I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own RWBY. That universe belongs to Monty Oum and RoosterTeeth. I only own my OCs and even those are in a borrowed universe.**

* * *

 **Pawns**

"So you're really telling me that this Davidi guy made your backpack?"

Tyson glanced up at Iris, still unconvinced about her entire story. She was situated on his shoulders in an impromptu piggyback ride, when, about two hundred meters back, he thought up the idea. The girl had insisted that she was fine, more than able to walk, and that no, she did not want to bother him. But the boy had denied it rather vehemently, especially when he undid her wrappings and saw that her wound still had not healed to satisfactory levels. For one, the cut was still there, and for another, Iris couldn't put more than a quarter of her weight on the leg without collapsing.

The trip towards the ruins were uneventful by far, a lack of Grimm activity that put him on edge. That was the primary issue plaguing his mind during the fifteen minute walk: one moment Iris is thigh deep in Grimm determined to eat her face, and the next, they're walking freely without opposition. The peace was gratefully accepted, but the silence induced a paranoia that floated around like dark storm clouds waiting to unleash their torrential downpour. He shifted the girl again as she slid uncomfortably on his back, knotting the lumbar curve with her weight.

She was a lot heavier than he thought.

"Mhmm," Iris hummed under her breath. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut, brows creased in concentration. For the last few minutes, she tried to focus her Aura to heal herself. She could feel it working, but Tyson was right; the gash was seriously deep, and without some proper medication, Aura wasn't going to cut it. "Tina... She said it was from him. I didn't... know that. Auntie gave it to me for my birthday."

" _Really_ ," came the dry, drawled out response. She blinked her eyes open and looked down. Tyson was picking his way over a large log barring their path and said, "When is that?"

His words were so easy, so carefree, but loaded with the strongest of intimacies. The cerise-haired Faunus blushed rather madly and went practically mute. Auntie Neith's twinkling laughter sounded in her mind at her niece's embarrassment, and Iris swiftly batted her amused face from her mind. She missed the sly, little smirk that Tyson held, a little twitch of his left cheek. He may be the stern older brother, but he was still a quadruplet. Ted's nucleotides were mixed somewhere on his DNA, and that flirtatious mix was embedded in his core, tucked away like a dirty, rotten, little secret. As the infamous words of that dastardly devil had pronounced:

 _'I saw my chance, and I took it.'_

"And somehow," the Torque went on during her silence, heaving the two of them over another brook, "this guy knows exactly how to create the... Erumed was it?" She bobbed her head. "Erumed to match your height, your size, shoulder width, and even your tendency to hunch in shyness."

She flushed again at his blunt jabs at her lack of anything remotely confident. If he wasn't her partner, bonded by rules created by an authority figure, she would not have come even close to answering his questions, or speaking for that matter. Since she was, more or less, legally bound, her tongue was loosened to speech.

"Am I wrong?" he asked. Stopping by the shade of a thin deciduous, she clambered off his back and slid down to the ground. Her legs crossed and she shook her head. "So you're really telling me that you don't find it mildly odd that your weapon, which I still haven't seen you use in combat by the way, was manufactured by some snooty rich dude making millions? That should've raised a red flag."

Iris lowered her eyes at his continued reprimands. She poked the soggy dirt in front of her dejectedly, not sure how to reply. Tyson bought the hint and sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and also sat down, leaning into the moist bark. "Add in the fact that your semblance somehow fits perfectly with the pack, and you've got a real conspiracy here. I'm betting none of the other Meiosis packs does what yours does. Why exactly is it so special? And who in the world is Davidi?"

He directed the questions upwards and outwards, a demand for some remote solution. Those curious puzzles floated in the air around them, the start of an invisible web that Iris was just becoming aware of. It never dawned on her to even trying questioning her good fortune. Would anyone? Auntie Neith got her the bag, taught her how to use it, and became her best friend in the process. She didn't dare ask why. Or even how. Tyson's words were foreign to her ears, and Iris didn't know if she could keep up with this cyclone of ideas. She clamped her hands over her head as a skull splitting headache roared into nerve central station, threatening to shatter command to bits.

"Ngngh," she groaned and swayed lightly in place. All this thinking hurt her exhausted mind. "I don't—don't know. I-I just... I just g-got it, o-okay? I didn't... I didn't mean to n-not ask..."

"It's alright," Tyson replied calmly. He stared off into the forest, one hand resting close to his thigh. Underneath the sports shades, the infrared lens were in use, scanning for the elusive Grimm that seemed to love Faunus flesh. "That's another thing," he realized and looked at Iris with a deep frown. "You were attacked by Grimm."

She peeked out from her fingers, those eyes confused at his sentence. Yes, she nodded dutifully, she was attacked by Grimm. They were really scary and tried very hard to tear her to shreds. But luckily, Erumed worked wonderfully, he had arrived, and now she was feeling rather safe. Or as safe as can be with all his prying.

"A lot of Grimm," he went on. "Like... a ton. Okay, fine, you killed them all. That's good, and I'm still impressed, but that doesn't negate the fact that I have not seen a single fight scene, a single area of destruction, besides yours. Now maybe we're in the wrong part of the forest, and maybe we're the last ones to grab a relic—there's gotta be a bunch, right? But still! There should be a lot more chaos on this side of Metropolis." He pushed himself to his feet and started to pace, a line that went from her right foot to her left as he almost seemed to spazz.

Both hands were shoved tightly in his pockets, bulging at the evident clenched fists. "You killed a whole ton of Grimm. And I killed three. Only three. Which meant that they really were scouts, and for some strange reason, the main pack chased after you." He paused and tapped his left foot into an unsteady rhythm. "Why?"

Iris had no answer.

She could only watch him carefully in his agitated state. She wouldn't lie that things were starting to smell really fishy, not the kind that tasted yummy at least. Definitely not salmon. Oh she loved salmon. So soft, so succulent. Mmmm... Thinking of food made her stomach grumble, and the Torque spun when he heard the noise. She gasped, clutching her stomach.

"S-s-s-sorry," she apologized. "D-didn't eat m-much this m-morning."

Fortunately, he chose to not comment.

"Then why specifically you?" The boy continued to muse. "Why only you? Now that I think about it, when I was attacked, those wulves didn't look like they were after me. They were searching for something. _Someone_. You. Again you." His hands gestured all over her. Sighing, he reached to pull her up, bouncing his shoulders to indicate it was time to go. She nodded and clambered up his back.

"I don't know," Iris whispered into his ear. She rested her head by his, mumbling incoherent phrases about something or other. He only caught the words "Auntie Neith" before she passed out, proving, quite clearly, that she was dead weight; a liability.

Then again, that's just his stupid, teenage side speaking.

"Auntie Neith?" Tyson muttered. "Who the dust is that? And come on Iris. Now? But we're so close."

Rolling his eyes, he couldn't lie though; it felt kinda nice having her like this. Blech, he really needed to chill. Professional, remember? First rule: don't flirt or grow attached to the contact. He was the one to always remind that to Ted, so it would only do to remind himself. Because at this rate, he might do something awfully stupid and get both of them killed.

The pair kept trekking towards their destination, the one doing the trekking keeping an eye for any red eyes. They crossed the last leg of the journey, and Tyson could finally see the ruins. It looked like your average lump of rock in the middle of a Grimm infested forest: stony, covered in moss, and with a pedestals ringed in a half circle. When they neared, Iris awoke with a tap on her arm. "Huh?" came a yawn.

"We're here Sunshine. Get off. And let me see that wound." Iris acquiesced to his command and knelt down. He gently opened the wrappings and noticed, that finally, the gash had closed. Maybe sleeping kicked up her Aura or something. "Nice. Okay. Try walking."

The leopard Faunus took a tentative step. Then another. Then another and another and another. "Haha!" he said, pumping his fists. Point for the bodyguard! Score! "Yes! You can walk! Nice, there we go! Alright, now let's—" Mental back patting, high fiving and handshaking were interrupted by arms that materialized around his chest. His semi-overjoyed tirade derailed off its tracks and careened into a ravine; Iris's hug congested the airways to his thoughts, and flight control went down. He was left with an open mouth and petrified legs.

"Th-thank you!" she squealed. There were caterpillars riding up his arms and beetles scurrying across his legs. "Thank you so much! You've been so h-h-helpful!"

"That's what I do," he answered sheepishly. "Kinda my job. I'm a Torque remember? Inter-kingdom company? Protecting people? I can give you my card."

Iris giggled and rolled her eyes. She felt much more comfortable now, a lot more open. Maybe Auntie Neith was right. Maybe making friends wasn't so hard. All she needed to do was express herself! _'Of course an injury helps too.'_ She should really let a Grimm tear her legs open more often.

 _'Kidding! Auntie, I'm kidding!'_ She furiously waved her hands apologetically at her invisible aunt, whose berating look frightened the bejeebees out of her. That glare of russet could send her scurrying to her room; such correctness and virtue only served to entrench the flaws in Iris's attention grabbing scheme. _'I would never do that. Never. Pinky promise.'_

There was an awkward silence birthed after the hug. The two stood oddly in front of each other, one swinging his arms back and forth, the other twirling her pink hair around a finger. Tyson decided to break the fog by jerking his thumb at the pedestals. "Let's grab a relic?" he asked uncertainly. She nodded in agreement. Bob bob. Sure. Okay.

The two approached the stands and found that most were empty. Evidently, other groups already acquired their pieces, chess soldiers that were the mysterious relics that Ozpin required. He saw both gold and black, indicating the sides of a board. There were three pieces left: a bishop, a pawn, and a rook. Tyson looked pointedly towards them, and Iris frowned. Me? she mouthed, and he raised an eyebrow.

Duh. That's what he said.

She looked away.

He simply sighed.

She needed to really step up her confidence.

Iris walked from plastic object to plastic object. She was a kid in a toy store, eyes carefully roving over merchandise; the shape, size, and make each action figure and doll possessed was a truth about its character. About her character. In her mind, she believed that the relic had to describe the trial. It had to represent what occurred; a symbol was carved in every single one. Was their partnership representative of a bishop? Or was its nature a rook? What was her? What was Tyson? Her gaze lingered for a moment before she snatched up the item. The move was swift, like she was afraid of hesitating mid-grab. The girl squared her shoulders and turned around; Tyson stood sentry with his pistols drawn when she tapped him on the shoulder.

He holstered the guns as she opened her palm. Inside sat the smallest, weakest, and most unassuming piece on the entire chessboard. Yet, he could not agree more. The pawn perfectly spoke about Iris, and for her, it represented him, though he might think otherwise.

"Great. Now let's get back to the cliff. I've had it with this forest."

Iris could not agree more.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

Scarcely were two steps taken when there was a rustling in the brush. Tyson moved with practiced ease; his right arm shifted to cover his VIP, his left drew Peregrine II, body moved in front of her, angled towards the noise, and feet bent just in case a leap back was required. A body wracking shiver coursed down his back, and his thumb switched the bullet toggle. His curved pointer finger was poised to squeeze that alluring trigger.

Then a helmet, with a sharp pair of horns attached at the top, popped out, followed by an ebony clad body. The two men stared at each other for a moment, two enemies glaring down their foes.

Tyson did not lower his weapon until Eminence lifted the visor off his helm. He pressed a button at the side, and it folded. It bent and split at various joints to go from a gothic conical helmet to a set of metal earmuffs that wrapped comfortably around his head. The pistol moved to aim at his heart, no longer set between his eyes.

"Before you start about Torque cruelty," came the stern, uncompromising voice, "take a long and hard look at where we are. Gaze around and know that here—your actions have consequences. You said this wasn't over, and I'm inclined to agree. Now, we can either stand here and yell at each other, ending in disaster with one of us getting terribly injured, or, and this is my preferred way, you can grab the relic and be on your merry way. Your choice."

Iris tugged on Tyson's shirt. He ignored her.

"And what's not to stop me from carving you in half?" was the snarling response. The electric blue eyes flared angrily as Eminence reached for the weapon on his back. An old, tattered cloak, attached to metal plates making up the full, form conforming armor, billowed out. He drew an axe ceremoniously with one hand. Now two pistols were aimed at his heart.

"Two bullets. Technically four. That's what will stop you."

"Wanna test that?"

"You first."

"Ladies first."

Add in background music, an acoustic guitar, and one could see this play out at a Vacuo theater. It was, as some might call it, a traditional Stale Remnant; each teen prepared for the other's move. Neither dared to move a muscle lest the other moved one first, jeopardizing the entire counterattack with an offensive strike. This stare down set Iris's heart rate afire and provided ample time for the fourth voice to break through their childishness.

"Alright stop. Jeez, ya'll sound like a bunch of toddlers. Ain't you a Torque? And Em, I already told you: that sort of aggression won't get you anywhere at Beacon. You really need to chill out." The mother-like reprimand was emphasized by a long sigh. A dark-skinned female stepped from behind her partner and patted him on the shoulder. Eminence shrugged her off, and she clicked her tongue.

"These aren't the Grimm you are looking for," she quoted. "Lower your weapon. And stop glaring. You're both like a pair of mid-life crisisers. Things ain't so bad. There yah go." This stranger gave a curtsy to the obviously cautious and protective Tyson. He already backed Iris up by a pedestal just in case. "Hi. Yes. My name is Drea Armstrong. You know Eminence of course. He's my partner. Rough, I know, but he ain't too bad. Wait, Em! I said drop it!"

"I don't take orders from you." The teen lifted the battered weapon that matched its scarred wielder. Tyson scanned over the handle, chinked and scraped at various spots; the only clear decorative sign was a snaking pattern that winded around dull black, devoid of gloss. "This Torque has had it coming."

"I'm sure he does," Drea answered. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. The short, chin-length hair quivered over her head. Iris saw white that ran into black highlights near her jawline. Golden yellow eyes looked over the diminutive Faunus hiding behind the towering bodyguard. "Still, none of you really want to fight, and after that sparring session with the Death Stalker, I'm sure you want a break. I know I do."

"You guys met a Death Stalker?" Tyson interjected. That's odd. They didn't encounter anything that big. "Any Beowulves? Ursai? Boarbatusks?"

"Hah!" scoffed Eminence. "As if. Those things are pathetic. Only a Death Stalker stands a chance against me."

"Don't forget moi." Drea crossed her arms over her black tank top. A pair of dog tags jingled its eye catching tune. Torque restraint saved the boy from an embarrassed eyeful. "Moi did more than help you kill that thing. Almost got my skinnies muddy too." Said denim skinny jeans led into brown combat boots, smudge free. "Why do you ask? Ain't ever seen one?"

"Not today." Tyson glanced at Iris who shook her head. He dropped the Peregrines into their holsters and raised an eyebrow at Eminence. The stubborn guy struggled for a few seconds then conceded. "We've seen every rainbow of Grimm regulars around here but nothing bigger. It's really suspicious."

"Hah, says the Torque. You guys know all about _suspicion_."

"Can we stay close to mature here?" Quadruplet One rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. Of all the humans or Fauni he could meet, the world settled on this one. Wow. Okay world. Okay! Fine! Play that way! See if he cares. "None of this makes sense. Drea, when you found the Death Stalker, how did it appear?"

"The usual hungry and carnivorous?" She shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatchu looking for? We wandered by it stalking about, so we jumped it. Nothing major. There was nothing else I was thinking about. Zilla and I had an agreement before we started. A Grimm that high on the danger table deserves to be cut in half." Patting her back where her weapon hung, she caught Iris's open-mouthed disagreement at her last sentence.

 _'Huh?'_ Drea thought, _'She's defending those creatures?'_

"Right, okay." Tyson started up pacing again, excitedly imprinting a line in the dirt. "Did it appear to be after something? As if it was searching. Death Stalkers are usually _not_ light-based creatures. They thrive in caverns, in damp, dark places. That's their—"

"We know," Eminence interrupted irately, "What do you take us for—stupid? We're trained. We know how Grimm work. Does it matter if it was out in the day? Who cares? We found it, we killed it. That's how it works."

Again Iris started. Her mouth opened then closed, snapping audibly shut; there was restraint in her eyes and a shyness that just won't quit. Battling within herself, the pink-loving girl decided to let Tyson take the reins as he was more than capable of working things out. It was not because she was afraid of Eminence—neither was it because his grisly scars indicated a ferocious attack she did not want to imagine. It was simply because Tyson was the better talker, thus he should do the talking for all those who _can't_ talk. O-obviously.

"What is it?" the freak demanded at Iris (the "freak" part a derogative Tyson threw in there because the dude was being a douche). She released some sort of half squeak half gasp half gag. Scrambling behind Tyson, she wished Erumed was in her arms. Maybe then she could use it to cover herself.

"You don't think they should be killed or something?" Eminence went on furiously. "How can you defend monsters? Do you know what they did to my family? Have you any idea?"

He stomped like a pouty nine-year-old. It was embarrassing to say the least, but he didn't care. Here was a much easier target for his aggression, and shamelessly, he made her the victim of a verbal lashing. "My father was torn to bits by a Grimm! He's in a wheelchair, and you have the audacity to defend demons?! I don't even understand how you could! Have you no morals? Where is your sense of just—"

 _Bam bam bam!_

The stinging words that poked holes in Iris's already fragile nature only ceased when thunderous gunshots resounded in her ears. She clamped her hands down at the shattering noise. Faunus senses were enhanced, therefore rendering them weak to high levels of stimulation. She wasn't the only one though; Eminence and Drea also clapped down on their ears, and only Tyson seemed unfazed. The Peregrine pointed at the ground moved back to its holster.

"Alright, that's more than enough."

Tyson creased his eyebrows at the one who started this auditory mess. Jabbing Eminence in the chest, he said, "Stop this right now. We all get it. And I've already told you: there's no reason you should be angry at me. So don't turn your unwarranted fury at Iris. She had nothing to do with this, and you think that dragging her into your little pity fest will solve anything? Now shut your mouth and listen. Something strange is going on in this forest, and I want answers."

He spoke clearly and fully pronounced his words, emphasizing the gravity of this mystery.

"Tell me everything that happened with the Death Stalker."

"Why the hell would I do that?" came the indignant reply. Eminence crossed his arms and stomped. "I don't take orders from you. I don't take orders from anyone. Know what? Move."

He shoved his way past Tyson and barreled towards the pedestals. The opaque eye seemed to snarl viciously at Iris, the claw mark contorting like a serpent nestled inside a milky white bowl. She shied away from the obvious glare. Her tail curled into a ball, and she pressed her shoulders, arms, and body into a standing fetal position, an effort made easier from years of practice.

Drea watched this silent exchange apprehensively. Though their time as partners was limited, she knew the fuselage that was Eminence's anger. It was short, yes, but infinitely more so when it came to the Torques. Throughout their journey, he referenced more than once the hatred of those blue-haired siblings, a hatred that seemed outmatched only by his thirst to slay the closest Grimm. These thoughts crossed her mind and a small memory triggered. She glanced slightly at Tyson, wondering if it was best to reveal the truth.

The boy easily caught her look. He was observant. That much she could tell. Maybe too observant. The dog tags hung conspicuously from her neck, the cool metal a close reminder. Drea nodded politely at him before she moved passed, throwing a kind, courteous smile at Iris. She stood by Eminence as he steamed on a relic. She was about to offer him a directive when a gauntlet covered hand, decorated by a five-clawed talon emblem, grasped the rook by its heart and tore it from its home. The cracked wood dropped into her hand.

"Put it away," he commanded. Her look made him tack on an aggressive, "Do it."

"Aight," Drea answered easily. "Whatever you say, boss." Her voice dropped in volume. "Why can't you at least tell that Torque about your little incident? And don't snap at me. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. You went ballistic back there."

"I told you to shut up about it," he hissed darkly. His gruesome visage pressed closely towards her in an ominous whisper. "That Torque is the very _last_ person I want to know about this. That Grimm is mine, you hear? Mine! He _won't_ take that kill away. He won't! And if you tell him, I swear—you'll regret it!"

The dark-skinned girl could only sigh in exasperation. She really didn't get this rivalry that Eminence held for the Torques. It was stupid and only mildly amusing at first; easily its charm was lost during the two dozenth time he brought it up. "Fine," she resigned. "Whatever. Yah know, maybe he could help you? Put that aggression of yours to good use. That boy's got a point. Something biffy is going on here, and I don't like the look of that Faunus girl with her bandages."

"Forget him. I got the relic. Let's get out of here before he makes up another one of his stupid stories."

"Fine, fine. Alright. We goin', we goin'."

She grunted and stuffed the rook into her pockets. Without another word, the two walked from the pedestals and headed off, Iris gaping and Tyson narrow-eyed. Drea tried to smile apologetically, but the look that the pink-girl was giving them almost made her break. The expression reminded her of another sad girl, pleading for her older brother to don't go—please don't go. But he did anyways and the only thing she received were the two metallic slabs attached to balls-and-chains, dangling from the noose that surrounded her neck.

Memories of flags, horns, and a whining knell surfaced in the cacophony of Drea's mind. A black glazed coffin passed through the binocular screens, and a shivering cold wrapped around her body. The young girl rose her arms to encase herself in the tightest hug she could muster. It was a hold that he used to give, grinning with that cracked front tooth, desperate for the dry laugh that made her feel so loved. It vanished into smoke as icy frost descended on her bones.

She realized too late that the feeling was real and not some specter of the past.

"W-what's going on?" she bit out past clattering teeth and dropped to the ground.

Those old images, supposedly repressed, locked down and thrown away, jogged to the forefront in a row of ragged and torn leather jackets. They pranced about with mocking laughter and cracked-tooth smiles that bit hard into the flesh and slashed at the chest; a heart-shaped hole all but vanished and reappeared again and again with these sugarplum fairies winking at the young girl, clutching her teddy bear, wondering why he had so inexplicably faded away.

Drea tried to stop, but she couldn't. She couldn't hold back the tears, and they welled up in a puddle upon her ducts. A face flashed, fizzled, then disappeared. Choking gasps left her throat, and she reached into the air, as if she could grab that picture and hold it in. The air rebelled against her, dropping about a dozen degrees into near subzero temperatures. The girl fell forwards onto her palms, seemingly frozen in a distant world.

Even worse, she was not the only one. Whatever emotional attack that had them enthralled affected every teenager, leaving none untouched by its perversity.

Eminence was on his knees, eyes wide like saucers, and his hands tightly gripped the ground beneath him. Dirt filtered through his fingers, the grassy chunks caught between the grains. The teen's body was entirely clenched up, each muscle threatening to tear off their frame. He was so tense that at any moment he might pop. The scars were more disgusting than normal, scrunched up torn tissue too awful to look at. Yet what he saw was not himself, but a young, teenage boy, mouth opened in awe as he held a familiar looking axe, offered by a pair of disconnected hands.

Eminence was motionless when the arms reached out for him. More than surprised that someone would take an interest, he accepted their warmth, but even then, they lasted no more than a few seconds. Soon, the hands reacted on their own, changing into the arms of some evil monster. It clamped down on his shoulders and shoved the young boy against the wall, snarling and hissing in feral anger.

There was a gasp, and his eyes flew upwards. He tried to tear himself from the past, but it was no use. Wood creaked under him; the vision intensified when a pair of aluminum wheels rolled into view, attached to a wheelchair where a pair of blood soaked legs dared him to turn away. Eminence choked on his breath and realized immediately what he saw; his father's eyes held only disappointment for his son.

"D-dad? I—what are you…"

 _No!_

This was not his father. This was a specter, some ghost conjured by that evil presence lurking at the back of his head. He wrenched his gaze from the sorrow and told himself this wasn't real. None of it was. His dad was not here; his dad was at home, safe, in bed most likely, and enjoying lunch. He was not damaged like before, bleeding from the most grievous of wounds. Em focused on what was real, what was present, and the mirage shimmered momentarily, allowing him to catch the sight of his school mates.

"Drea?" he said raspily. She barely registered his words. "Drea… Drea! Drea!" Stumbling forwards, the teen landed in a limb scattered heap next to his partner, and he dropped a hand on her shoulder. "Drea!"

She didn't respond.

He tried to shake her. Still no answer. Glazed eyes stared downwards, all the way down into a bottomless pit. Then he heard the whimpers. They came not from her, but from a frail looking Iris, curled up into a ball, ears and eyes clasped against her sheet-white skin. Whimpers were released from her graying lips.

"N-no…" the snow leopard Faunus begged. She shook her head meekly. "No no no… No, please. Please go away." He did not know it, but the presence that he felt was magnified a dozen times for the girl; she could feel its energy: dark, infectious, and tainted. "Please… please… go…"

She mewled weakly, the words themselves falling limply from Iris's tongue. They sucked air in exhaustion, the will even to communicate a distant hope. Sluggish and dry, they died out in a sun that refused to warm up the ensnared victims. Iris could feel the evil approaching them. It was in the air, the earth; and the usual hum of life exuding from the other students was gone, dim lightbulbs with cracked filaments.

She could only pray the others fared better.

Reaching out with her semblance, Iris concentrated on their bodies, making contact with the life energy within them. She felt Drea's dwindling, and Eminence was struggling to maintain his calm. She could feel something eating away at his innards, not literally, but more of a ethereal gulp, consuming the aggressive nature he had displayed. Then when she checked Tyson, Iris inhaled in surprise.

There was a fire burning inside him.

Her eyes snapped open, and somehow, she managed to push herself upright, twist her body over, and gaze intently at the Torque. Her partner was the only one standing, and his outwards appearance was just as bad as theirs.

Vibrating unsteadily, the Torque trembled wildly, a swaying willow in tornadic winds. His shades covered his eyes, and Iris could not see the way they contracted, shrunk, and disappeared in barely controlled fear. He twitched from head to toe, fingers flailing, eyes blinking, and the muscles in his cheeks oscillating like electrocuted puppies.

Poor, poor, electrocuted puppies.

Tyson couldn't understand why, but that was the only image in his head. It was a depressing scene. The puppies were all the same, caramel brown, cute, pink-nosed and starry-eyed. He gaped when they writhed, phantom skeletons dancing in his brain. These pictures took a turn for the morbid, and the puppies soon morphed, taking on faces of the teens around him; one hideous mutt snapped viciously; another grew cat ears and meowed; the third soon darkened as a pair of tags dragged it away. And finally, the last one, the one to stare at its fellow pups twisting in pain, was punctured by a pair of fangs exiting from the darkness. The teeth sank, cracked its spine, and a river of blood exited the wounds.

It could only lay there seized by horrid delight, consumed with seizures.

"Oh dust," Tyson uttered. Reality entered this lucid dream, and he witnessed scarlet lanterns—eyes that belonged to the waiting Grimm—floating in the forest green, the lights mesmerizing to the receptors that translated such signals into brain waves. The waves soon overtook his body, routed into a loop and fired off transmitters that activated his muscles.

That was when the fire erupted into an intense inferno.

Iris watched in awe as her secret connection felt a blast of power, radiance that shook the girl to her core. His hands blurred, and soon, those two pistols sat in his palm. Like scissors, the weapons cut through the spell woven over the young man, and he stepped forwards, the barrels flashing white, glorious light. Gunfire ripped out in rapid succession. Bullets buzzed towards their targets, scattering the creatures.

It was just enough to snap the others from their nightmares.

"It's here," Eminence whispered.

He was on his feet now, axe in hand, and a wild craziness in his eyes. The earmuffs easily formed into his helm, and a finger dropped the visor with a light clang. Giving one look at Tyson, whose breathing was labored, exhaling like a bull, the two rivals met each others shielded gaze. Neither one spoke, and a small truce was formed. For now, they were allies. The future was another story, but the present demanded their cooperation.

"You get them on their feet," he said, jerking a thumb at Iris and Drea. Tyson nodded. "I'll amuse our friends."

Resolutely, Eminence strolled forwards and rolled his shoulders. He could feel the coldness from before, but it had weakened considerably. The ranks of Grimm were broken. Their hold could no longer trap him. Brandishing his axe, he smiled at the familiar weight. It was time to return the favor. He readied himself and bellowed defiantly:

"MY TURN!"

And before anyone could change their minds, he bounded forth as howls blasted from the undergrowth. Dozens upon dozens of Beowulves leaped into the field, an undulating army of black that careened for the four bewildered teens. Tyson rolled his eye at the terrible one-liner and made his way back to the girls. Iris had crawled to Drea. She was speaking softly into the dark-skinned girl's ear, whispering something or other that seemed to get a reaction from the girl. One hand patted soothingly down her back as the Faunus consoled her new friend.

Tyson watched, an impressed look on his face, and saw the nearly imperceptible tilt of Drea's head in recognition to Iris's words. It seemed to do the trick; the dark-skinned girl stood slowly up her feet, the ice in her legs dissolving under Iris's warming smile. Together, they walked over to Tyson who had reached up to the hilt poking out from his shoulder.

He didn't say anything immediately, flicking both eyes back and forth between the two women. They each wore differing expressions, but the common ground was the determination in each face. Drea pressed her lips into a thin line, and Iris squared her shoulders. Tyson couldn't help but crack a tiny grin.

"Eminence is engaging the enemy," he said, all business-like. "He's doing good so far," his gaze shifted to make sure, "but he's going to be overwhelmed. Drea, you're covering Eminence."

"You got it!" she replied quickly.

Her raised voice revealed anxiety, probably from the mental strain from earlier. As the last one to recover, he could only imagine what horrors she saw. Such an effect was too powerful for normal Grimm. In fact, there should have been no way to induce that feeling. Tyson's mind fluttered away from the current crisis, and he shook his head to dispel the thoughts. Mysteries could wait. They had to survive first.

"Iris, you're covering Drea. _Do not_ exert yourself. That injury barely healed, and I still haven't figured out your Aura yet. Go easy. Stay defensive." He gave her an encouraging smirk, and Iris looked away shyly. She clicked the straps of her pack, the other two teenagers marveling as it transformed. Soon, a dozen and a half floating polygons rose to ring around their leader.

"What the hey?" Drea mumbled hoarsely. It was not everyday you saw such a sight. She then remembered that Tyson was the only one not assigned to a job. "What are you going to do?"

She was met with a grimly amused twitch of his lips.

Pressing a button on the hilt, he yanked the weapon off its magnetically sealed attachment to his strap. The semi-rectangular sheathe broke horizontally in half. One end flipped up to form a rifle butt, hilt fit snugly into a slit at its center. The other end narrowed and protruded out further into a long, slitted barrel with various tiny ridges that ringed the cylindrical tube. A machinery whirred inside the gun, and a scope flipped out from the lateral side where several buttons appeared. The last piece to extend was the grip, trigger and ammo port to create a full length, Panther-IV-Class Sniper Rifle.

Selecting a magazine that was hidden beneath the sash covering his belt, Tyson slid a blue case into his gun, clicked it into place, and yanked on the bolt handle. A small holographic screen flickered on the side of the gun labeled with the letters 'AP' (armor piercing) and the number '12.' He pressed a button on that screen, and biopod stands extended outwards. Moving behind a pedestal, he placed the rifle on it, uncapped the scopes, and ran a hand through his indigo hair.

The crosshairs were aimed directly at an incoming Grimm about to attack Eminence from behind.

"I'm covering all three of you."

* * *

Eminence was more pissed off than usual. He was pissed off because he had willingly agreed to place himself under Tyson's command, without at least complaining, bickering, or angsting. And it bothered the armored Hunter-to-be that the Torque could stay standing after what they all experienced.

Maybe he pegged the guy completely wrong. Maybe he wasn't some snooty, rich, white, _ass_ who didn't care or couldn't handle himself. There was no denying that the indigo-haired punk was a leader. He took control of their pathetic situation and turned it around, going so far as to let Eminence hack away at those _stupid Grimm_.

They were to blame.

Now, he had faced Grimm before—everyone of them had to. You couldn't join a battle school _without_ having done so. So Eminence thought he was ready. He was _sure_ he was ready. His confidence in his abilities was without par. Eminence Mauve was more than ready to become a Hunter.

Oh how wrong he was.

The moment he felt _it_ again, he had collapsed. He had lost control, and now he was fuming. The axe carved a deadly path down on another Beowulf's head, embedding the thick blade into its skull. He yanked it out, a satisfying _schlick!_ slowly raising his spirits. He ducked from an attack and snarled just as angrily, because he was _still_ fuming, partly from embarrassment, partly from fear.

He thought he would never feel that way again.

"Who's next?!" he roared and spun in a wide circle. The axe cleared a path, and he took a short breath. Four creatures eyed him warily, and he didn't wait for them to attack. They were his, all his, as the juggernaut of a teen barreled into his foes. Immortal—the name of his weapon—cut through the armor like it wasn't even there, nearly tearing a Grimm's arm off.

"Die you demon spawn! Yargh!"

Sensing, and not really seeing, the next attack behind him, Eminence thrusted the butt of his weapon behind him in an attempt to catch the Grimm off balance. He then arced his arm backwards without looking to slice the foe. But his move struck air as a loud boom erupted from behind him. He turned to see the wulf fall to the ground, its head completely missing.

He caught the twinkle of sunlight glinting off lenses and saw Tyson in the distance, body leaned forwards, fingers over the trigger of a sniper rifle.

"That was totally my kill," he complained. Those other three were his. Totally his. No one was going to—

That was when a bunch of weird shape things zipped past his head. He ducked on instinct and watched them spin vertically, a steel colored blade surrounding each piece. These miniature wasps punctured one of his targets in the worst areas to be punctured: two for the eyes, one each for its armpit body part, and two for its knees. He heard a whirring sound, like that of a drill, and pieces of fur and blood and bone splattered outwards; the Grimm fell, completely blind and limbless, dead before it hit the ground.

"What in the—"

"Yo, Em! Stop staring and move!" Drea's voice interrupted his befuddlement, and he spotted the girl sprinting towards him with her weapon—Zilla—in hand. The giant five feet long claymore glinted brightly in the light. She shouldered herself into a Grimm and quickly decapitated it, sliding up next to him in a rather cool entrance.

"Your cavalry is here," she quipped and smirked tiredly. He could easily see the strain in her face as she tried to hide her emotions. _It_ really did a number on them, and he was that much more determined to slit its throat. "Have you _seen_ Iris? That girl can fight!"

Said Faunus was bounding acrobatically over the tops of the Grimm, suspended by absolutely nothing, until he saw the tiny platforms she balanced upon, formed, get this, by those odd little shapes that seemed to buzz crazily around her. She landed in a twirl, crouched down, hands out, and gave what Em thought was almost a cocky smile. Then her eyes slid from the two, and the confidence swiftly faded.

"Here," she said meekly and swiveled the toe of her flats. They couldn't say anything as another boom blasted a leaping Grimm out of the sky. "Oh, and… um… Tyson's… b-back there…"

She flicked her ears to the Torque, currently approximately one hundred yards from the two. His voice soon crackled into being, and it sounded relatively annoyed. Iris winced at the loudness of the miniature, Bluetooth-esque radio attached to her hip.

" _Great_ , oh _swell_. Everyone's all happy and together." He paused to fire at another Grimm that thought it could be sneaky and try to clobber Drea. "So could you _all_ stop looking like dinner bells and _move_?! Three o'clock!"

Drea got his meaning first. She whipped around, and the claymore transformed, bending the blade in half twice, to reveal a hidden barrel. The handle shifted and so did the crossguards. In about four point three seconds—she would argue four seconds _flat_ —the weapon went from giant sword to automatic machine gun: the Zastava M77 blasted apart the Beowulf that came from directly west, a command that Iris got about twenty seconds later.

Twenty seconds too late according to the incessant voice coming from her hip.

"Too slow, Iris!" Tyson called out.

"Why don't you come here and tell that to our face?" Eminence bashed another canine with his fist and kicked it in the legs. "You're the one miles away! That's some cowardly bull right there!"

"You're too bunched," the voice continued. He wisely chose to ignore the previous comment that was a stab at his bravery. The teen adjusted the zoom on his gun with a hand, flicking off some of the dried blood from earlier. That's what he gets for digging his hands in corpses. "Spread out more," he spoke into the mic that dropped down from his shades.

"Look, you're going to get surroud—" _Bam!_ "—ed." A bullet case clattered to the ground next to him. "Eminence goes in front. Arrow formation. Start retreating backwards towards me to draw them out. Drea covers flanks and Iris gets back." He saw those polygons bounce as if in acknowledgement, and he couldn't help but grin a little cheesily.

' _Aww, she waved.'_

Oh shut up, you.

Wiping his sweaty brow, Tyson peered through the scope again. He saw the pink shapes fly together and attached themselves into a giant, five foot by three foot, tower shield. It adeptly tanked a charging Beowulf that looked like it was on steroids or something. The creature was massive and thick as a cactus—he wasn't sure why _that_ metaphor was used out of the millions others. The cactus-Grimm crashed platter sized paws on to the wall, not doing a single ounce of damage on whatever material that the Erumed was made of. Then, something really really really cool occurred.

As if energized by the attacks, the sun emblem on the shield glowed brightly. He could see strands of smoke exuding from the center piece. Finally it seemed to finish charging and released a searing white laser beam.

 _Zssssinnnggg!_

Tyson's jaw dropped, and he saw that laser wiggle around uncontrollably, probably because Iris couldn't control the energy it produced. A hole burnt through the large Grimm, and the beam cut several others to shreds before the entire construct, wall and all, broke apart and clattered into the dirt. Iris blinked owlishly at her broken pieces and started to sway. She took a few steps, and Tyson could feel his heart sliding up his throat.

' _Oh dust,'_ he thought and swiveled his rifle around, popping off shots at the straggling Grimm. A few went entirely wide, but he didn't care. "Iris!" he screeched into the mic, "She's going down! Drea, grab her! Eminence, fall back! Retreat, you gotta—"

"I'm fine."

Two simple words and the bodyguard felt himself calm down instantly. It was the strangest thing, but when Iris spoke, there was this… gentleness to her voice that eased the panic that grasped the Torque. He could see that cute puppy—why was it cute all of a sudden?—with the cat ears being electrocuted, and he almost rocket-jumped into the fray. When she spoke again, he released a shuddering breath.

"Just… woozy. Drea, thanks."

Again the pieces floated into the air, but this time, Tyson could clearly see her ashen face. Iris was certainly not _fine_ , but she was okay. And okay was good enough for him. For now. They would talk. Later.

Nodding, even though she couldn't see, he replied, "Right. Good. Keep falling back."

The battle was winding down anyways, and only a few brave monsters decided to challenge the three. They were about thirty meters away, Eminence an unstoppable beast in his own right. That axe destroyed everything it touched. Those that managed to lumber away were either shot or impaled by Drea's trusty sword. She was really strong, and Tyson noted that down in his head. He also noted the way that the purple-headed freak—who was still going have to do better than that to have the f-word replaced with another—was breathing heavily. It was like Eminence just ran a marathon or something. Or maybe he was more heavily affected by that presence than Tyson thought.

Whichever the case, the dude didn't sound so good.

"Almost there," Tyson commented, "Twenty meters. I don't see anymore. I think you're good."

The trio stopped in their formation, and for the first time in many minutes, they rose their heads above the water of combat to assess the field. Mounds upon mounds upon mounds of bodies littered the grass. Blood stained the field, and black gassy substances floated into the air. The dead were evaporating, and those newly killed were slowly following along. Not a single pair of red eyes moved to pursue them, and Tyson heard a simultaneous exhale from the students. He grinned tiredly at their victory.

Score one for the bodyguard and his homies. Yay…

Drooping his head down to the arm that steadied his rifle, he completely missed the atmospheric change around him.

If Father were here, he would be _soooo_ dead.

* * *

From behind the Torque rose a ginormous black mountain, decorated in white chunky armor, creased by the red symbols of Grimm. Claws the size of daggers curved like sickles. They raised into the air, and the Grimm nearly frothed at its mouth. There was so much hate emanating from its body that it was a wonder Tyson did not sense it before; but it was the human's fault that he let his win get to his head, the exhaustion now clouding his mind.

It did not need to use its powers to subdue the boy. The boy was easy prey for an ancient beast like him. Scarlet hued pinpricks gazed over the blue-haired two-legs, and it paused momentarily to inhale the stench of man. Then, it's claws descended downwards, aiming to dig its hands into living blood.

* * *

Iris smiled when they finally stopped. She watched her teammates—because that's _exactly_ what they were; teammates, not one-time compatriots (hopefully)—relax in various ways. Eminence propped his axe up against his shoulder and let loose a deep, wheezy rumble. He laughed and pumped his fists in the air, clearly enjoying their win.

"Haha, yes! That is how you kill Grimm! Damn straight!"

Drea shook her head in exasperation and leaned on her claymore, letting her head rest on hands folded on the pommel. She gave Iris a tiny nod in thanks. "Good save, Iris. Way to teach that big sucker a lesson."

The Faunus blushed hotly and looked away. Her ears wiggled embarrassingly at the praise. Oh shush, she wanted to say, it was nothing. Of course, the words didn't come out. So instead, she moved her eyes back to Tyson, wanting to acknowledge his part in their success.

That's when she saw it, felt it, and instantly named it in one fell swoop.

Oh my… she should've known.

"TYSON!" Iris shrieked and reached out her hands, fingers spread, "BEHIND YOU!"

For perhaps the first time in her lame life lacking any sort of heroic initiative, Iris completely disregarded her own mortification and clenched something deep inside her. She took whatever she suddenly had a hold of and with a grunt, pulled. Pink hair flared around her, glowing impossibly rosy.

Her hands made the motion, and Tyson found himself yanked on an invisible string, thrust across the dirt to skip stone-like, landing near the trio's feet. He saw the Grimm slash the spot where he was, a split second later, but couldn't understand how he moved a span of twenty meters in that small amount of time. One moment he was considering a nap, and the next, Iris's expressive fuschia orbs were looking down on him.

"Achk," Tyson grunted when he landed and rubbed the back of his head. "Torques don't fly. Thanks for the save."

Iris smiled coyly and looked away; there was going to be a moment between them, something more than the whole saviors and save-ees nodding thanks, when Eminence hurdled over Tyson and landed in front of him. The guy waved his axe at the Grimm, a possessive cry exploding from his mouth.

"HE'S MINE!"

The purple haired teen pressed a trigger in his weapon, and the end dropped out, extending the weapon into a full length halberd, a spearhead sliding out the top of the axehead. Twisting the connection firmly in place, he jumped forwards as the Grimm crashed into the ground. Chunks of earth flew into the air, and Tyson flipped himself up to tackle Drea and Iris out of the way, both hands wrapped around a girl. Ted may have had a beautifully constructed flirt for such a time, but the eldest brother could only utter a rather unheroic "My face" when he splattered his cheek through disgusting gravel.

"Boy, you better tell me what the hell that is, or I swear!" Drea spit out a mouthful of grass and glared at Tyson who was rolling on to his stomach. "You ever said a Grimm that giant? That's bigger than a Death Stalker!"

"No kidding!" The teen jumped upright and pulled out his pistols. The rifle lay discarded a dozen meters away. "I don't—I've never _seen_ something like that." He closed his eyes and tried to recall the files, anything from the files, when the heavy pounding of strikes echoed in front of him. It was not Tyson who answered Drea, but Iris, crawling up and lifting out her arms.

"Lycan," she said. "Lycan. It's a Lycan." Sending out her minions, they spun and thudded into the beast. Eminence rolled out of the way of the attack. He glared darkly at her from behind his helmet. Even those that hit its mark apparently dealt no damage as the beast swung a hammer-like limb downwards.

It met Em's upwards halberd slash with so much force that a sonic boom detonated, the winds whipped up from the mighty blast. Everything within a twenty meter radius went flying, which included the three onlookers who, once more, thudded into the ground in the most embarrassing way possible.

"Welp, there goes my spine." Tyson rolled his eyes and got up again. This was really really starting to tick him off. "We need a strategy. What the frick does he think he's doing?"

"Killing it—that's what." Drea brushed her hair from her eyes and dragged Zilla back to her. "That's the monster we saw. Remember when you asked about the scorpion?"

"Yeah?"

"Well this is what happened at the end." She gestured at the boy who spun, throwing a powerful side slash that Tyson knew could rip apart normal Grimm. But this thing wasn't normal, and it blocked—wait blocked?!—the strike with an armored forearm, headbutting—wait _headbutting?!_ —the foolish human. Eminence careened backwards then reengaged, the fury fueling his strength.

"He's strong," Iris uttered and watched another clash between the two titans. "What… what's his semblance?"

"Super strength," Tyson answered for her, having deduced the ability from the power output that knocked them down. "Only a super strength ability can hit that hard, no matter how muscular or flimsy-armed you are. So what's this about a Death Stalker? Keep talking." He toggled the switch of his guns and advanced. Every time there was an opening, he squeezed in a shot; pinpoint shots placed in pinpoint locations.

"Well, I mean, we fought the scorpion. That part was true." Drea helped Iris hobble after the teen who calmly kept firing, slowly, methodically. "But then that feeling came over us, you know the one. Em went completely nuts, just like right now. He just kept running and running and wanted to chase down the Lycan. It escaped, and that's how we found you guys. That's why he was so angry. It's gotta be the thing with his parents."

"It is." Tyson switched pistols and breathed out slowly. "Frick. This isn't working. Drea, what's your semblance?"

She paused for a moment, wondering if it was a good idea to reveal such a well kept secret. After a few awkward moments, she sighed. "Impervious. I get hit, I don't move."

"Good to hear." He lowered his gun and snarled. "He's not giving me any clear shots. Screw it. New plan. Drea, you get in there. Right as it hits, hold. Then let Em smack the dust out of it. Iris, I need you to do the same. Defend the crazed son of a gun. Got it?"

Both girls nodded.

"Okay, now go!" Tyson broke to the right and ran for his rifle, and the two girls sprinted forth. Iris half limped, half jogged with the Erumed polygons around her. There was another sonic blast that they were prepared for. She erected a pink wall, and Drea held up her sword. Then they kept running until Eminence was nearly in reach.

What they didn't expect was the next move.

The halberd curved vertically downwards in both a punishing impacting strike as well as a lethal slash. But instead of doing what it had done for the last few minutes, the Grimm didn't just block; it raised both of its arms and crossed them, catching the weapon in its crook. Then it twisted and flung the weapon to the side, stuck upright into the dirt. Afterwards, it swiped at the defenseless Eminence, batting him like a baseball player would an easy pitch.

 _WUUUMMMPHHH!_

The ebony clad warrior grunted and flew to the side, crashed through a few trees, and then landed, cracking the back of his head against a hard rock. The other teens watched in shock as he just lay there, completely unmoving.

"Dust!" Tyson yelled. "Follow the plan! Go go go go!"

Drea swallowed thickly as the Grimm pounced. She raised her sword and blocked the hit, rooted entirely in place when her semblance took hold. Cracks formed beneath her, and she continued to parry each strike. The more she blocked, the more she felt herself weakening. She didn't move, not an inch, but that didn't mean the hits didn't hurt. Each forceful hit traveled down her arms and into her shoulders, popping out bones that shouldn't be popped, healed only by her Aura. She grunted at the agonizing strikes and one, unfocused move snuck past her defenses.

"Shit!" A knee buckled, continued to buckle, until she was crouching. Still she refused to budge, the stubbornness evident in her eyes. "Iris! Help!"

That's when the dome rose up above her and the two paws meant to flatten her like a pancake whammed into the pink pieces, and somehow, they held, granting Drea her much needed reprieve. Sweat littered her brow, droplets thickly layered on her face. She released her semblance, and bruises began to form up and down her body, one splotchy purple-black mark on her right bicep, pulsing hotly against her skin. That was the side effect to such power, one she hid from Tyson, knowing that he would not have allowed her to fight if he knew the consequences.

Speaking of which, Drea turned her gaze over to the teen. He was trying to rouse Eminence to no avail. When she looked back to watch Iris, she was surprised to see the Faunus not trying to outrange the Lycan, but sprinting headlong into its deadly embrace. The warning caught in Drea's mouth, and for maybe the sixth time today, the others were completely captivated by the snow leopard Faunus's assault.

Tyson's jaw dropped nearly to the ground when the Erumed shapes stuck together, bent at small split ends, and formed into a wrecking ball. It rolled right into the Lycan and squashed the Grimm. The ball continued to roll, pressed down by its controller. Then it rose up and dropped. Again and again it dropped, mercilessly and without qualm, flattening the fellow under a mass of highly dense carbon. The monster roared and swatted the orb away. It split apart and reformed into a massive arrow, shot, Tyson saw, as Iris made the bow motion with her hands.

She drew, nocked and released in one smooth motion, sending the giant spear-arrow- _thing_ right into the Lycan's chest. Then the front spun. Simply a blur of rotating motion, but he could hear the damage from where he stood, the monster howling in torment. The armor that covered its chest started to dent. Then it pressed inwards. Then it finally snapped and blew apart, the arrow piercing straight through its body, clean through, and then exiting the other side.

Goliath fell at the hand of David.

And Iris collapsed to her knees, sobbing quietly into her hands.

* * *

The resulting team naming ceremony, an event meant to be filled with happiness and cheer, was a somber occasion for the four teenagers. They stood together in a small pack, huddled together for warmth. While the Lycan was more than an hour dead, it felt only mere minutes when it was alive, terrorizing them with its hate.

Ozpin clicked to the next slide to announce the new team.

"Tyson Torque." Click. Up came his picture. "Iris Seikatsu." Then came hers. "Drea Armstrong." Click. "Eminence Mauve." Click. The headmaster turned his enigmatic smile towards the students already together. He chuckled lightly, knowing full well that Tyson would have concluded the assignment of their team.

The letters floated down to reveal their name.

"Team TIDE, led by Tyson Torque. Congratulations."

There was meager applause as yet another Torque team was announced. The leader rolled his eyes and beckoned for his teammates. They followed him obediently, not missed by Ozpin's acute eyes behind his circular shades. His amusement seemed to deepen. Then he clicked his tongue and continued with the next team.

Goodwitch totally owed him a coffee.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Please remember to review. There are a lot of things that happened this chapter. xD Like Iris for example. And Eminence. Tell me what your reactions were to these character's actions. Specifically, tell me how the fight was. Was it bad? Much, wrong, or just right? And did you like the Lycan? I wanted to create a brand new Grimm with different abilities. Tell me what you think. Until the, see next chapter!**

 **Note: to my BOB readers, don't worry! x3 I have not forgotten.**


	8. The Catalyst

**Hey guys, sorry for the wait! Here's the next chapter in the story! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. This universe and the canon characters associated with it belong to RoosterTeeth and Monty Oum. I can only hope to honor them in my writing. Rest in Peace, Monty.**

* * *

 **The Catalyst**

 **Before**

His head hurt. That was the first thing he felt when he regained consciousness.

The second was the suffocating inside of his helmet. He woke up in a cloud of own expired air, trapped inside a literal boys' locker room with its pungent body odor and teenage pheremones. Hammers repetitively clanged against his skull in a brain jarring cacophony, each striking a thundering ache. Twitching his fingers, he found they still worked, albeit less responsively. Toes could still move, and when he stretched the skin of his face, it was like stretching a frozen rubber band: it took several tries before he could properly form expressions. He hurt, but nothing was exactly broken. The armor thankfully protected his vitals.

With a grunt, he shifted his shoulders and bent his knees, forcing himself to roll over his stomach. The world reordered itself into a dizzying kaleidoscope. His muscles screamed in protest; his arms resisted, but he managed to get to his feet. Somehow, he kept his breakfast down just enough to prevent his bucket from becoming a repository for human upchuck.

"Hghh…" Eminence groaned heavily. He staggered drunkenly a step forwards and swayed in place. The trees and grass rocked in to and fro and felt his breakfast do cartwheels in his stomach. A patch of indigo caught his eye, and Em focused on it until it cleared up into Tyson's image. The Torque was sitting on his haunches, mouth agape, eyes staring at a mass of cerise hair covering a Faunus girl on her knees, sobbing into her hands. That sight alone was enough to confuse Eminence. "Did someone die?" he said.

"The Grimm did," Tyson replied. "Iris killed it."

"She what?" The scarred teen blinked owlishly and spotted a black pile with white splattered throughout. As he got closer, Iris's sniffles reached his ears, and Eminence felt an intense surge of anger. It was so sudden that he should have been surprised. The closer he got, the more he could make out. His teeth clenched and he unconsciously grasped for the halberd on his back. Grasping air, he realized he must've dropped it.

Flashes of the attack played in his mind. A block, a swipe that he could still feel ringing down his arm, and a disarm that had knocked him out. The memories stopped when he reached the remains of the Lycan, everything coming back to him: the hallucinations, the sadness, and the chilling cold that soaked into his bones. He remembered Tyson standing, firing the shots that awoke them from the spell, and his anger intensified. He remembered getting struck and flung to the ground, the humiliation just now revealed for his indignant self to see. It was bad enough that the Torque had not fallen to his knees, besieged by the psychic attack, as Eminence had; it was worse that he had passed out and forced the others to protect him.

Stomping his foot, Em ground his heel into the Lycan's limp tail and rounded upon Iris. Drea was next to her now, gently patting her back. That simple act was somehow, inexplicably, more infuriating than the dead monster in front of him. He didn't understand why. There should've been no reason why. But there just was. He could feel it in his ribs, that rising tide before the waters come crashing down upon the rocks, harsh and unrelenting against the land.

Or maybe, it had something to do with the skin-crawling heat.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Eminence growled. The scars on his face writhed like psychedelic eels, and Drea, who had not registered his presence, looked up to see his foot scuff the ground, a grassy chunk flying up to smack Iris on her left ear. Iris gasped and wrapped herself up around her knees.

"Ey!" Drea exclaimed. "What was that for?"

"I asked why she was crying," he defended himself, half sorry that he had scared her. The other half was furious for her even daring to cry. This half dominated, and Em nonchalantly shrugged. "It's just a piece of grass anyways. Don't make such a big deal out of it."

"A big deal? A big deal?!" Drea raised her voice and she narrowed golden yellow eyes at the stupid boy who couldn't seem to respect someone's feelings. She was starting to get really fed up with Eminence's bullying. "Boy, you better be fooling! Don't you dare come over here with your loud mouth and start throwing shade. Today's been bad enough without your input. Try being considerate for once."

Unfortunately, Drea's exhaustion clouded her better judgement; and instead of defusing the bomb that was Eminence, she ignited him into a thundering explosion. "CONSIDERATE!?" he screamed. "CONSIDERATE!? How can I be considerate when she KILLED MY TARGET?! That Grimm was mine! Mine! And she killed it! Now she has the _audacity_ to cry over it?!" His finger jabbed towards Iris who continued to shrink smaller and smaller, hoping that she could just vanish from the world. Why did he have to yell?

She was just trying to help.

She didn't mean to. She didn't mean to kill it. She didn't _want_ to kill it. She just wanted to stop it from hurting her new friends—a term that now seemed a mere wish than a reality. Now Eminence was yelling and she was confused and sad and wondering why he would do that and what she did wrong and oh please please _please_ stop yelling. The pathetic bawling she thought she had stemmed escaped. It was lame, it was weak, and she couldn't seem to stop. Hastily, she clamped her hands over her mouth and bit her tongue, revealing the steady stream of tears that dripped underneath her fingers.

"Your target? Are you serious right now?" Drea shook her head in utter confusion. "What are you talking about, boy? That Grimm ain't yours to kill alone! You would've gotten stomped on! Your improper mug was laid out!" She waved her hand to where Tyson was still sitting, seeming to mildly be paying attention to the conflict that cropped up a dozen meters away from him. The Torque display of indifference, one reinforced by the shades, the bemused smirk, and the relaxed way he sat, served only to drive Eminence further up the wall.

"I _had it_ under CONTROL!" he roared.

"You did not!" Drea stood and jabbed her partner in the chest. "You refused to let us help you; you charged in recklessly without a thought of a plan; and you fooled around with the Grimm when it headbutted you! Headbutted you, Eminence—that's what it did." She planted her fists on her hips. "So unless you ever seen a big hunk of a beowulf do something like that, I don't think you had _anything_ under control."

"I didn't need your help," Em growled. "I needed space and no one to bother! I didn't need you to pitch in! I can fight my own battles! You think I can't handle a Lycan?" He crossed his arms and glared darkly at Drea. "It's like none of you seem to get it." Spitting on the ground he stomped over to the beast. It was certainly dead with its body decimated by the meat grinder that was Iris's Erumed. Its torso was completely gone, shredded, leaving behind the massive head, part of its neck, shoulders, and lower body. It would have been comical if the parts weren't still there. Strangely, they did not dissolve.

That somehow made him angrier.

"Of course we don't get it," Drea's voice reentered his hearing. Gritting his teeth, he spun around as she stepped directly up to him, both faces barely two inches away from each other. The girl glared up at Eminence, feet evenly spread. "All _I_ know is that you gotta thing 'gainst Grimm, you got a thing 'gainst Torques, and you gotta a thing 'gainst Iris—and _maybe_ I can understand your thing against Tyson—maybe!—what I do not understand is your thing 'gainst Iris when all she did was save your tin can from getting killed!"

"You think this is about Iris? This is about the Grimm!"

"What are you talking about?! You came over here huffing and puffing, mad out of your mind at Iris, and now you're not saying it's her fault?!" Drea's voiced down to a whisper. "Em, you kicked _dirt_ at her! You're being absolutely ridiculous!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Eminence threw his hands into the air. "Good dust, Drea! Iris KILLED MY TARGET!" He thrusted a finger outwards towards the girl who just wanted everyone to stop yelling and being angry. "That thing is one of the Grimm that my dad hunts! It's one of the Grimm that attacked him! It's the same kind of beowulf, and there's no _way_ I'm letting Iris, or anyone, take that kill away from me!"

"Are you serious? How do you know that?" Drea demanded. "You weren't there were you? How do you know? This could have been any old Grimm that existed just simply because it's lasted longer than the others. This doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't have to make _freaking_ sense," Eminence said. "She took my kill, and she's _crying_ over it? Crying over Grimm? What the dust is wrong with her?! Nobody and I mean NOBODY cries over Grimm. NO ONE! And she does?! Is that Hunter material to you? Is it?!"

There was silence after that, silence that was punctuated by the sharp intake of a nearly mute gasp as all of Iris's hopes and dreams for Beacon, for friendship, and maybe for finally fitting in, came crashing down in front of her. The girl ground her teeth on her tongue to prevent herself from openly weeping. Fortunately for her, Iris knew Drea had heard.

"I can't look at you right now. Em—I don't—" Drea shook her head disappointedly and simply broke from the argument. She completely backed away and gave up. She didn't understand Em's anger, she didn't know why, but she knew that Iris needed her more than Eminence needed to be put down. Muttering a few exasperated lines, Drea hurried back to the Faunus.

And through all this, Tyson had no input. He felt removed, like he was there, but not there, but also outside; an observer observing someone else observe. He felt trance-like: things were moving slowly, disconnected, and heavily. Wading through mud would've been easier. Perhaps it was the falling that he did, either from the Lycan's attacks, or Iris's pull; he didn't know. He just felt… dull. Yes, that was the word for it. He felt dull. Sloth-like. Perhaps even turtle-like. Maddeningly languid, he stood. An hour passed before he could narrow his eyes, and an hour still until he could form a thought. It was the Lycan. The Lycan was slowing him. It had to be. Even in death, the creature was alive. He had to find out why; he had to stop it. All he needed to do was reach his dagger. Reach it and unsheathe it. Unsheathe it and walk. Walk and arrive. Arrive and grip. Grip and prepare. Prepare then execute.

The indigo-and-gray-edged karambit fell in an arc and bit into the encompassing darkness below.

* * *

 **And After**

"Soooo… this is your team?"

Ted's smug question fell on Tyson's aggravated ears. The older brother entered his dorm room where beds were hastily organized into a u-shape facing the door, cabinets beside each bed, and a circular, wooden table in the middle of the room with five chairs assembled around it. The two windows they had were covered by blankets, and one of the bookshelves they were given was haphazardly filled with magazines and an single, leather-bound encyclopedia. One near-mint quality, box protected, Dancing Sandy fit itself snugly into the most distant corner of the bookshelf, properly labeled in pink, cursive handwriting, and below that was a picture frame of two people, a young female, and her accompanied brother. That left a space for Eminence's artifact of which there was none.

The entirety of team TIDE was in the room, plus the other three Torques. Said artifact-less teenager was standing in the furthest corner away from all the blue-haired, blue-eyed people, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched. He carefully watched Tyson sit down next to Iris. The Torque was acting peculiar. Before he sat, he just stared at the chair. It was like something was hampering his movements. Then he snapped out of it, and the motions finished on autopilot. The anomaly was when he nudged the Faunus, who only nodded and wiggled her ears in recognition. Eminence furrowed his eyebrows. Strange. Iris didn't notice and stared dejectedly at her feet. Drea gently squeezed her shoulder before settling into her own chair.

"Don't… even start," Tyson responded tiredly. He ran a hand down his face. "Let's… just… focus on the Lycan, okay? You… remember what that is, right? You payed attention at least during Botan's lessons?"

"Tsk tsk, Tyson," Ted smirked, "Of course I paid attention, my dear brother. Don't think our parents' paid lessons were for naught. I thought you were better than that." He kicked his feet up on the table and wiggled his toes at Drea. She swiped those disgusting appendages away, and he barked in laughter. Another victim, another win. Score. "Mocking your sibling. My word. What next, you'll go and give Tommy a wedgie?"

"Ted, be serious," Tyson said."We shouldn't be joking about this. I called—uh—uh—" He paused when the sentence fell away. _Snap! Snap! Snap!_ went his fingers. A few seconds later, the sentence came back and he went on. "I-I called you guys here for a reason. We encountered an alpha in the forest, and no one seems to bat an eye. No one. It's like a Lycan is the equivalent of a beowulf, except larger and harrier. Ozpin thought it was normal. He even praised us for taking it down. He—uh... he..." Blink blink. "Yeah."

"I mean we did take it out," Drea pointed out, "I guess that's a good thing, right?"

"I… yes! Yes! Exactly! It's a good thing. I guess." Something on the table caught Tyson's eye, and he went for it. The thing vanished. Huh? He frantically scanned the oak surface. There was nothing there except for hands, some flat, one clenched, and another spread into a web. The web then fused together into a single entity, and Tyson was a fascinated by it. He was a newborn, curious about every new aspect in life. When those fingers spread again, he cocked his head to the side, leaned forwards, and—snapped himself back to reality. "Yeah, yeah. We did good. We did good."

"It's a shame you ever do anything impressive" the youngest clone teased. Tyson whipped his head up as Ted winked charmingly at his brother and pew-pewed his finger guns. "Well, you did call us here. Let's get down to business—to defeat the Grimm and their primal machinations."

Tyson hazily nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense." He wasn't exactly sure what made sense.

"We should be eating right now," Tommy reminded them. He was perched on Iris's bedside cabinet. "I'm kinda hungry. Like super hungry." He rubbed his stomach and grinned sheepishly. "I got me some hungers. I hear the lunch is soup and crackers with some of that delicious Vale spaghetti. Haven't had that in a while."

"You can worry about your hungers later," Tina responded. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, coming out with a few broken leaves and dirt. Ted reached over and plucked a green, fuzzy ball from the back of her right shoulder. "Great, I have all sorts of nasty stuff on me, and Wyte's probably taken all of the hot water by now. This better be worth it, Tyson."

"Hmm?" Tyson responded. He seemed to recognize her and nodded. "Oh yeah, yeah. This is worth it." Tapping the table a few times, he suddenly shot up to his feet. "Come on, could you guys focus? Dust, this is important. You can go get food later." Gesturing to Iris, he said, "Let's show them."

The snow leopard girl didn't say anything and simply pressed the triggers on Erumed. There was a hissing sound, then the straps loosened, the metal plates retracted back into their original shape, and the extended shoulder guards returned to their normal positions. The weapon once more became a designer backpack that the girl shrugged off and handed to Tyson. There was mist in her eyes, and for a fleeting second, Tyson felt disgust. It was gone the next, and he solemnly took Erumed and sat it on the table. Next, he unzipped the pack; hands curled around something wet and sticky, oozing between his fingers. It was slimy, yet the deeper he dug the more dense it became. Something hooked onto his pointer finger, ridged, almost like teeth. Pain flared up his arm. He involuntarily flinched, but he ignored it seconds later, focused solely from removing the thing from the bag. His nails probed into something that felt like jelly, then meat, then bone. "Oh boy," Tyson grunted and lifted out a black, watermelon-sized mass.

 _Thud!_

The object rocked the table.

"Ah gross, that is disturbing." Drea grimaced and pinched her nose. "Jeez, it smells. I have no idea how you can manage to hold on to that with your bare hands." She lifted up one of the fingers pinching her nostrils and gave it a sniff. Reeling back, she shook her head. "Nope. Ain't better the third time around."

"Absolutely filthy," Tina agreed. She'd jumped back the moment he dropped the item and was now a reasonable two meters away from it. "I knew you were into science with Ted, but this crosses the line. What in the world were you thinking? That is filthy!"

"No," Ted countered. He wore a grin from ear to ear. "This, my lovely sister, is awesome. How in the world is it still intact?" Out came a pair of latex gloves from his pockets, and he reached for the object. Tina quickly leapt forwards smacked his hand with her baton. "Ow! What'd you do that for?"

"To stop you and whatever your brother plan on doing with it. You have no idea what it is. Come on, it looks… awful." Tyson raised an eyebrow at Tina's comment. "It is!"

Well there was no denying it's appearance. It was a black, like most Grimm, but it was also mixed with red and yellow, nasty chunk-sized boils that rose and fell in pus-filled sacks. The smell was that of decay and mold left for hours in the sun, somehow fused together into a volume of noxious gas. The mass appeared to be evaporating like the bodies of dead Grimm, with only one major exception: the evaporation was slow and condensed, the cloud of black bubbling lowly on the desk. The substance Tyson dubbed as ooze crawled slowly out over the table, stopped inches from the edge, and forced some of the weak stomachs among them to back off. The sound of scraping chairs and scuffling feet mixed with cries of distaste.

"What the hell is that?" Eminence curled his lips. "Is it blood?" He crouched down, opaque eye unblinkingly staring at the edge of the liquid where it sat, simply content to froth. He had the urge to touch it, drawn to the bubbling broth. Tina's baton came zooming down on his naughty knuckles. "What are you doing?" she shrieked. "Don't touch it!"

"Your brother touched it," Eminence protested. "Why can't I?"

"Because," Tina reprimanded like a teacher to an impish child, "you _dingus_ , if that thing is poison or—or _worse_ —he'll be the only one infected. We don't need two idiots touching it with their bare hands." She glared angrily at said brother. "Seriously Tyson, what are you thinking? Get on some gloves!"

"Quit your worrying," Tyson rolled his eyes. He waved his hands at her. "See, it's fine. Nothing happened. Don't be such a nag. It's just… uh… it's just Grimm guts." There it was again, that pause. Thoughts just dropped in and out of his head. There was something else he wanted to say. Needed to say. Something about the Grimm. Something about the body. He couldn't put his finger on it. Mentally shrugging, he beckoned to Ted. "Grab your kit."

Before Ted could hand Tyson the kit, Tommy interjected. "Woah, hold on there." He got off his perch and walked over to the table. Sliding his sunglasses over his eyes, he examined the structure through the thermal lens. "Before you two go digging around in there, what is it? And like Eminence said, what is the liquid? For that matter, why hasn't it disintegrated?" He leaned closer. "And why is it warm?"

"It's warm?" said Ted. He grabbed Tommy's glasses and checked for himself. "Yep, it's definitely warm. What the heck?" He passed it on to Tina who also took a look. When she put them on, she immediately saw pulsing yellow and spots of orange that expanded from the object. The surrounding air was dipping towards the green-cyan and blue parts of the spectrum. When she exhaled, her breath clouded.

Iris whispered the conclusion: "It's c-c-c-cold…"

And indeed it was. One instant it was a comfortably cool, autumn evening and the next, winter pranced into the room, waved her hand and sent forth the winds to embrace the teens. They all shivered when a tiny zephyr slipped through the casement windows and transformed into a breezy tickle running down their spines.

"So is it a fridge?" Tina asked bluntly. She wrapped her hands around her exposed arms. "It sucks in heat and shoots out cold?"

"Well it _was_ the Lycan's head, but now," Tyson said. He rubbed his tomato red ears, a feature that apparently only affected the firstborn Torque, because the other fortunate souls were completely fine. "It's, uh, it's that." He scrunched his eyebrows. How was it that exactly? What was he looking at? Then he remembered. "Oh yeah. I took it from the body, completely intact. It didn't evaporate. Kinda, kinda like all the other Grimm we faced. Look… there's the eye." He pointed to a foggy, marble-like orb that was revealed after the ooze dripped to the table. The head was starting to look oblong now, but it was difficult to separate the top half of the snout from the bottom. The blackness melded the features together. It hid what lay behind the jaw, and even seemed to fuse together the nostrils. Tyson absentmindedly rubbed his index finger.

"I also don't know why it's cold, or what the liquid is."

Eminence summarized it much better in a single disdain filled sentence: "You don't know anything."

"He knows it's dead," Ted offered helpfully. The scar over Em's eye rippled menacingly. "Okay okay, don't get upset." Ted harrumphed and reached under the table. "You want me to grab the large scalpels, Tyson?"

"You know what I need." Tyson replied. "Don't forget the five-point-five, non blunt. Dust man, it's like you've never done this before." He rolled his eyes, and something flickered in the periphery. When he looked, nothing was there. He could've sworn he saw something. He could've _sworn_ he saw something. He could've sworn. He could've. Sworn. Something. He... saw...

Tyson blinked and looked around the table. Everyone stared intently back at him. Why were they staring? What… "Uhhh… what—what was I saying?"

"Something about tools?" Ted scratched his head. "Yeah, you told me to get the five-point-fives."

"Yeah… and uh—get… get the tape measure. Get the tape measure. Don't forget… it…"

"Alright, gotcha."

"Wait a minute," Drea said. "Are you going to dissect it?" Both boys nodded, Ted swifter than Tyson. Well, Tyson sort of nodded. He dropped his head and let it hang before appearing to realize that his head wasn't supposed to hang like that and looking back up. Drea found that odd. For a moment, he had appeared to lose motor function. "Uhm, right. Do you guys just carry these things around?" Ted smirked and lifted up a miniature leather pack and wiggled it at her. Tommy and Tina didn't bat an eye, confirming Drea's incredulous question.

"Holy Grimm," she mumbled. "It's a science experiment."

"Experiment is a bit juvenile," Ted answered in his most arrogant voice. He pretended to push glasses up his nose. "I prefer to call it a jaunty endeavor into the undiscovered. But yes. It's a science experiment." He laughed at his own, complete hilarity.

"Yep, this takes the cake," Eminence grumbled. "Damn you Torques are weird."

"Hey, not weird." Ted grinned. He spread his hands into the air like a director displaying his vision. "It's: exquisite."

Eminence snorted. "Sure it is."

"Don't listen to him," Tyson said nonchalantly, "He's got no standing. What a hideously scarred excuse for a human."

"Excuse me?" Eminence's eyebrows shot into his hair. "Did you say something, _Torque_?"

"You heard me."

"I don't think I did," he growled. "You might want to be careful with what you say."

"Oh for dust's sake." Tyson spun around and gestured fiercely at Eminence. His visage contorted venomously, and that was when everything began to fall apart. "I called you a mutt, _Eminence_! A mutt! Do those words mean something to you?!" He pointed his index finger directly between the Mauve's eyes, the tip of which was a deep, scarlet-black. "For once would it _HURT_ to be friendly?! Of course not! You lack fucking manners! Call up your father, bastard. Maybe he can teach you some. _Maybe_ he can teach you how to be a gentleman! Or _MAYBE_ he can teach you how to FUCKING KILL A GRIMM!"

"WHAT?!" Eminence exploded and launched himself towards that stupid Torque who _dared_ to insult his dad. His arms were around Tyson's throat in a heartbeat, and he was squeezing down on that red-hot, life giving tube. Chaos erupted around the table as Drea and Tommy pulled on Em while Ted and Tina pulled on Tyson. "LET GO OF ME! LET GO!" Em screamed. "I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!"

"You wish," Tyson said raspily. He grunted and kneed Em in the gut. The attack, combined with the others' help, dislodged him from the vice that was around his neck. Gasping, Tyson rubbed his jugular and appeared to forget about Eminence. He grabbed the dissection kit and shook it. Metal, glass and plastic sunk into the bubbling foam, and he stuck his hand into the thickening goop to retrieve them. At this point, black tendrils had snaked past his finger to his wrist, entwining themselves like villainous vines. The sight of that was enough to halt Eminence. He just stared—along with the rest of the room. They watched as the tendrils slithered their way towards Tyson's elbows, thin serpents much like the the threads of a web.

"Everything stays in this room," Tyson demanded. He snapped his fingers at Drea. "You. Close the door. Everything stays in this room." Head twitched to the side. Fingers clawed at his elbow. "Lock the doors," he repeated. "Close the windows. Close the windows. Nobody knows about this."

"Uhhhh," Drea pressed her palms hard on Em's chest. "You got it, boss." She shook her head at her partner. Don't do anything, she said with her eyes. The Mauve inclined his head, though he wondered what Tyson would look like with an axe protruding from his chest. If the guy wasn't acting all strange, he would've tested that theory. It was the tendrils that saved the Torque. They were a larger problem than his words.

"Something's wrong," Eminence said quietly to the others. They nodded in agreement. "What do we do? It's spreading fast."

"Get him away from the head," Tina said shakily. She bit her bottom lip. "Drea and Eminence, stand guard by the door. He might be insane, but he's making sense. No one needs to know. Tommy, help me with him. Ted and Iris, secure the windows. Everyone get in place. He might resist."

"What happens then?" Tommy mumbled.

"We incapacitate him."

The two siblings met each other's gaze. A mutual understanding passed between them.

"Go," Tina ordered.

Off the students went to their assigned jobs. Meanwhile, Tyson was talking—to himself. He spoke in a guttural voice, almost softly, with haste to his words. Almost insanely so. He would slur at times, then unslur then recombine into incoherency. He was rambling; he was nonsensical and as they watched, he started to twitch. Started to rub the back of his neck. Started to shake his head and unleash a steady stream of giggles. It was the caterwaul of a madman, and Tina engaged him the moment he reared his head back and crowed in laughter.

"Tyson!" she said loudly. "Brother, you're not feeling well. Come on, get away from that head, okay? Come over to me." She held out a nonthreatening palm. "Go on, grab my hand."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Please brother. You're acting really strange. Something's wrong. You've got black on your arm. There's Grimm on you. The water is poisonous. Please. Move away from the head so we can help you."

"Don't tell me what to do"

"Please Tyson. We can help you. Just take my hand." She smiled kindly.

Tyson did not like that in the slightest. His face warped itself back to the contorsion from earlier and he ferociously spat out his denial. "NO! I SAID: DON'T! TELL ME! WHAT TO DO!"

From almost thin air, his scalpel materialized. Tina stared stoically down its blade. Her jaw tightened, and she tried again. "Please Tyson. You're not in your right mind. That Grimm's—whatever it is—has something in it that's making you act crazy. Put the scalpel down, and come to me. Please. Step away from the head and—" Her voice broke when all of a sudden, Tyson's eyes turned pitch black. His pupils vanished, and Tina was left staring into a bottomless well. The eldest Torque shuddered where he stood, the muscles in his cheeks oscillating like mad. A massive claw flashed in his mind. For some reason, he started to speak logically. Everything would have been normal if it were not for the inky streaks that slid down his cheeks.

"Holy dust, Tina, _think_."

"You saw the vid feed," he said, finger pointing over to the open laptop on his bed with his sunglasses sitting on top. "That thing was massive. Ozpin might _think_ it's nothing, but that thing attacked with precise acumen and strategic positioning. It nearly ripped me in half, almost concussed Eminence, would've torn Drea into fourths, and would've eaten all of us in an instant. I am _not_ going to let anything remotely close to that happen again." The grip on his scalpel had become so tight that his knuckles were white.

"A psychic attack," Tyson listed with his fingers, "waiting until the enemy is relaxed, blocking, disarming, and accurately determining how to _funnel_ its prey into a literal rock and hard place— _that's_ what the Grimm did. And he did it flawlessly. If Iris didn't—I don't even _know_ what she did—we would all be dead right now. So excuse me if I have the urge to figure out how it did all this, because last time I checked—it shouldn't be POSSIBLE!"

Tyson stabbed his scalpel into the Lycan's head. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The eldest Torque felt himself hyperventilating and didn't know why. Angrily, he dragged the scalpel in an arc to cut through what looked and felt like flesh and fur. Yet, somewhere in the corner of his mind, his normal mind, he knew it was anything but. Darkness seeped out of the cut and spilled across his hands. He ignored it and continued to cut in absolute, pin-drop silence.

 _Shiiink! Shiiink! Shiink! Shiiink! Shiink!_

"It should've been obvious, _Tina_!"

Tyson's voice fused with the violent motions of his weapon. He laughed maniacally and jammed the scalpel wrist deep into the Grimm. A geyser of black squirted on to his shirt and fizzled bubbles up his contorted visage. "You're always demanding this, demanding that! Always telling me what to do! Always being a prissy little _prick_! Always on mom's good side! Always getting special treatment! Always the _princess_ of the house! My dust it's abhorring! You can't just—STOP!?"

"Tyson," Tina said. Her voice cracked. "I'm g-going to pretend you never said that, because something is obviously wrong. You might be my brother, but don't push it. I suggest you shut your mouth."

"Oh ho! You suggest _I_ shut up? I suggest you fucking roll over!" Tyson slammed his fists on to the table and the black liquid spilled down to the floor. His left eye twitched uncontrollably. "You know what I suggest you subservient _WHORE_!?" He bared his teeth. "I suggest you slink back to your deplorable _boyfriend!_ So much for loyalty! So much for family! So much for them! I don't need your shit, Tina! I don't need any of you!"

The tendrils encased his forearms.

He continuously shanked the head, a lopsided, crazy grin on his face. "Grimm Grimm Grimm Grimm Grimm! It's always these fucking Grimm! Take that you son of a bitch, I fucking killed you! The arrows of heavens with their glasses of fashion were built upon the weakness of men, and by dust I will not fall to these demons! You will kill no longer! Wickedness upon wickedness! Chaos breeds order! Order breeds chaos! The light of the world is shadowed by life! Dust to dust! Soul to soul! Treacherous be the one who wields such heavenly force!"

 _Shiiink! Schlllopp!_ _Shiiinkk!_ _Schlllopp!_ _Shiiinkk!_ _Schlllopp!_ _Shiiinkk!_ _Schlllopp!_

The scalpel rose and fell again and again.

Having been passive the entire time, Tommy decided to take action. He motioned Tina to back off with a flick of his hand. She did so, rubbing her eyes. Then he nodded to Em and gestured to Iris. The bulky teen pulled the Faunus girl from her partner's reach. Pointing to the top of his head, he signaled Ted to record the scene. Then, with a hand on the revolver on his hip, the second oldest Torque advanced on his clone.

"Hey there Tyson," he said gently. "You doing okay, buddy? You seem a little… tizzied."

The instant his foot crossed some unwritten line, a marker that Tyson's crazed consciousness deemed too close, there was an almost impossibly fast twitch of his left arm and Peregrine II appeared to teleport into his hands and land barrel pointed at Tommy's heart. But whereas normal Tyson wouldn't have tried to draw on his second brother, this one, _not_ -Tyson, had no qualms. He was met with Tommy's own barrel aimed directly at his twitching eye.

"Don't try it," the second sibling said. "Drop the pistol."

Perhaps there was some sanity left in him. Perhaps he wanted to get back to his work. Whatever it was, the Peregrine clattered to the ground. Tommy exhaled in relief and picked up the weapon. He looked at the others and saw shock written on their features. Nobody said a word. Their voicelessness was conquered by the splish-sloshing of Grimm guts as Tyson went on his slashing spree. Even Eminence was disturbed by the psychotic way his supposed enemy was making mincemeat out of the Lycan.

It was Iris who braved the unknown.

"T-Tyson?" Iris tried softly. "T-Tyson!" Her voice became louder. "Tyson!" she shouted. "Y-y-you're not right. Something's wr-wrong. Please. You have to regain control." She wanted to say more but couldn't. In this horrible scene, the pink-loving girl couldn't string together another sentence. Her ears flattened to her head, and she wished she had her beret.

 _Please_ , she wanted to scream, _your aura! It's… it's b-broken…_

That was the only word she could think of. Tyson's aura, his life force, the very essence of his being was flickering in and out of reality. The fire that she felt before was snuffed out by an overwhelming feeling of despair. It was like deja vu: Tyson's fingers started to move, thrumming rapidly as he dug into the Grimm. Small splashes of darkness danced merrily in the air. He continued to cut obsessively, possessed by some urge to drive his scalpel—his righteous sword—into the depths of Grimm themselves. Each blow was a blow at the devil. Each blow was a blow at the enemy. Each blow was infused with so much hatred that his Aura reeked of darkness. He started to blink in the rapid beat of some invisible drum until he entered the final phase: a whole body vibration that dropped Iris's stomach into the center of the earth.

"I see something," Tyson finally said after another unnerving minute. His voice cracked giddily. "I see something. I see something. I see something. I see something. I see something! I _SEE_ something. I see something I see something I see something!" He giggled and frantically shoved his hands into the head.

Again and again he repeated those words in an eerie mantra. His voice started to rise in volume, get high pitched; and his cutting got erratic. Iris jerked out for her partner, but Tommy yanked her swiftly behind him. He made a shushing motion with his finger and flicked his eyes to Ted and Tina. The first peeled off his latex gloves and dropped them to the floor. He clasped one of the swords that protruded from behind his shoulders. Tina readied her baton, eyes rimmed red. Eminence heaved his axe to his shoulder and Drea curled her palms around the hilt of her two-hander. Iris clutched her hands to her chest and concentrated on her Erumed. The pieces glowed faintly under her command.

"Almost! Almost! Almost! I see something! I see something! I see—NO! Dust! PLEASE NO!"

Iris flinched. She felt another crack. Tyson's aura.

"The eyes! Please no! Not the eyes! Please! No no nonononononono! It's red, oh dust it's red! No, please! Please! Don't look at me! Don't look!" A shiver wracked his body, and the surrounding temperature ignited. The room turned into a massive oven.

"Don't you guys see it?" Tyson screeched. "Can't you guys see? Its eyes! The EYES! They're glowing!"

When they looked, there was no red.

But it was there! It was! The eyes—they were following him, tracking him. They could see where he was. They knew who he was. Every move he made. Every turn of his body. Every _twitch_ of his being. They recorded his breathing. They recorded his voice. They could see him, he knew they could. The intensity, oh dust, the intensity. The glow got larger. It got larger until it covered the entire room and then expanded out until _they_ —they!—were floating around him, and the voices were speaking and language of demons effused into his ear canals and danced their twisted gyrations on his mind. _Crack!_ His aura. _Crack!_ His aura! Iris sensed the card pyramid's collapse before it even shivered under the wind.

The others watched in stunned stillness as Tyson opened his mouth and onyx coils laced themselves across his face, distorted his voice, and seemed to force him into submission. Tyson spoke— _something_ spoke—to the assembled students. Its voice was deep, resonating, and filled the entire room with but an utterance. They were spellbound; the words so rooting that even Eminence felt the urge to bow. _Clink clink clink_ went the Erumed polygons. They fell to the floor; limp were the guardians whose queen was stricken by dread. The thing spoke, and they listened.

" **Snōgrê ōt htάêd**

 **Êfįl fō rêmüsnōc**

 **Snōgrüά ōt êsįάrp**

 **Êfįrts fō rōtάrêbįl!**

 **Rêdrō sêvάrc sōάhc,**

 **Sōάhc sêrįsêd rêdrō!**

 **Êrά üōy dōōlb hgüōrht**

 **Dêêrf!** "

Then _crack_.

A hint of noise.

The Lycan's skull opened, then promptly disintegrated. Just like that, the one goal at the end of Tyson's tunnel revealed itself without a bang or a flash of light. The ooze vanished. His arms were spotless. His shirt was clean. Giggling like a child on Christmas morning, he danced a jig. His fingers trembled. His arm twitched. Then his body decided to shut everything down in one smooth, instantaneous moment.

Tyson collapsed.

And Iris murmured:

"Oh my stars.

They're alive."


	9. Of Earth and Mirrors

**Enjoy! As for my BOB folks, don't worry. The next chapter is coming out. :P**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. That universe and the associated canon characters belong to RoosterTeeth and Monty. May he rest in peace.**

* * *

 **Of Earth and Mirrors**

Like his siblings, Ted was trained to be a morning person. That was how the Torques were conditioned since a young age. Father Zion really took the whole 'Early crow gets the worm' proverb to heart. Not that Ted minded, of course. It just wouldn't hurt to have an off day once in awhile. Unfortunately, those days were nonexistent with Tyson's snafu a two weeks and a half prior. It threw a wrench into the youngest Torque's plans for ending sleep deprivation and maintaining his beauty. Though, to be honest, he didn't have much need for beauty. It's not like he had time to go chasing after girls.

Such facts could not be more depressingly obvious than his current location: one mile from Beacon cliffs in the north-western region of the Emerald Forest. Under the early morning sun, Ted sweated, beads of perspiration dripping down his back and forehead. Instead of waking up an hour later, dressing fly for the babes, and eating a well-balanced breakfast, he was digging in the earth with a rusty shovel stolen from the Beacon ground keepers. Well, stolen would be too strong a word; Ted liked to think of it as a long term borrow. For the past two four day intervals, he had need for the shovel, and with his brother's condition, he knew not how long he would need it still. So it was best to stash the shovel in the boughs of a maple tree, rather than leave it in the gym.

Pushing down the top of his tool, Ted bit it into the earth. Both vambraces were smudged with stains, a few spots more stubborn than the others. When rubbed, they gave way to azure covered metal. He sharply cranked the handle and removed a moist chunk, dropped into a plastic gray bucket, also commandeered from Beacon. The chunk contained grass and flowers, a few hardy Vale weeds, and even an acorn that somehow strayed from its mother-tree. These non-essentials were plucked out by bare hands, careful not to be wiped on his white and azure outlined shirt. The similarly dyed running shorts adorning his bottom were nearly stain-free, considering the trek he made through the forest.

The air was crisp and held the scent of fresh morning dew, one that he inhaled deeply. Working another large clump out of the ground, he grunted, "Urgh, here we go. You got this. Alright. Phew." The piece was dropped into the bucket, and he swiped his hand across his forehead. "This better be enough. I never know how much he needs. Oh boy. Alright." The next chunk was particularly heavy, resulting in spread legs to accommodate the weight.

"I am going to get so jacked from doing this. Thank you, Tyson for giving me this wonderful workout. Thank you for falling into a coma too. And thank you for making me do this every morning. Yeah, way to go big guy. This is why we use gloves. It's like you don't know the first thing about lab procedure. Dust, I blame Botan. He _never_ wore gloves when teaching us."

Sighing, Ted continued to work. The weather was cool with no breeze and slight moisture. It was around seven-fifteen in the morning. Class started at nine, and with Tyson knocked out for dust knows how long, TIDE and the rest of the Torques had to concoct an elaborate scheme to hide the infected quadruplet. At least they hoped it was some sort of grim infection. If it wasn't, then they really would be in trouble.

"Now I'm not a praying man" Ted said, "and I'm not one to believe in the whole Divine thing people have going around," and here even he could sense a 'but' coming on, " _but_ no one finds it weird that I continuously draw the short stick?" He rolled his eyes and haphazardly scooped some dirt. "Ted gets the easy job and Tina is excused. I'm the one lugging this stuff around campus, and not a single person bats their eye. Okay world."

Sigh. Tyson would be so proud of his sarcasm right now.

Shaking his head, he checked the bucket. Three quarters full. The archaic methods of "straws" really was an unlucky game. He remembered only ever winning thrice in all the times he's played throughout his life. In this situation, Meanie Tina got an excuse, because she was a girl and _obviously_ couldn't pass off as Tyson. Ted, of course, called dust particles. She was flat enough to be a dude.

One more payload and the bucket was filled. Both his deltoids seared with strain, built up by the constant bending and scooping. He rotated them to relieve the pain, then slid the shovel shaft through the first bucket wire and into the second. Lifting both up onto his shoulders, he began to jog, thumping through the forest, breath even, and heartbeat a steady rhythm. He passed a few destroyed trees and shredded bushes, the evaporated bodies of dead Grimm littered around the plants.

"Decayed," he noted, just like they were meant to. Only the stench was familiar. The same odor hung in team TIDE's room for nearly a week before it finally dissipated. No amount of sprayed perfume and deodorant covered it. All it did was suffocate the members, adding to their rising tensions.

Ted jumped over a brook, one of the few waterways that broke the forest floor. He adjusted the sheathe on his back and lifted the shovel back to his shoulders. A small bottle was attached to the sheath strap, and he yanked it from its pouch with a free hand. Sucking down some water, he shoved it back into place. Renewed with energy, he kept puffing along. He'd planned a workout session with the bros at seven-thirty, and he couldn't miss it. The last three he skipped, and he couldn't afford another.

Ramses was already suspicious, and he really didn't want to lie to his friend.

* * *

Iris registered the nearly inaudible taps on her dorm's door, captured by enhanced Faunus hearing. Her left ear was responsible, due to her right ear being clogged by an earbud. Yawning, she unfurled herself from her snug cocoon blanket and drop the gel-like, pink audio device into her lap. The last few bars of her song lightly escaped her lips, and she rolled off her bed, landing on her four limbs. Her tail swished side to side, and she straightened to human height, padding over to the door. Auntie Neith's cautionary words about stranges flashed in her head. Carefully, she peeped through the peephole and saw a face so identical to her partner's that she almost flung the door open and hugged him. Then azure hair poked into view, and she felt her hopes crash and tumble into a ravine.

"Man," she murmured sadly, placing her hand on the knob. She was in the process of turning the knob when Tyson again popped into her head. The scene played out in high definition, each detail absolutely pristine. She now sat on his shoulders, staring down at flat, trimmed, indigo hair.

 _So you're really telling me that you don't find it_ mildly _odd that your weapon, which I still haven't seen you use in combat by the way, was manufactured by some snooty rich dude making millions? That should've raised a red flag._

Red flag. It should've raised a red flag. But it didn't. It didn't raise a red flag at all. She didn't once think of it, and now Tyson was gone, and he was sick, and she was partner-less, and oh dust! She pressed her head against the door, tears teasingly poking at her eyelids. Breathing shakily, Iris squeezed her eyes together and focused her semblance. The internal energy held by whoever was on the other side opened like a book. She read the signatures, confirming his identity. Then she turned the knob and the electronic lock disengaged.

Iris was met with Ted's roguish grin.

A blush bloomed on her cheeks at his blatant flirtation. Strong, masculine smells wafted into her nostrils, released from the quadruplet that was drenched in sweat. Gasping, Iris hurriedly rubbed those stubborn flabby bags and scurried to her bed, diving headfirst into her blankets. Ted raised a curious eyebrow, a bit surprised at her exaggerated reaction. She cautiously looked over her cover and saw him drop two buckets on the ground in front of Tommy.

"Alright, there you go," Ted said. He bent over and touched his toes. "Argh, dust. Man that was rough. You have no idea how hard it is to control water while carrying these things. I almost died twice. Just saying. Next time, you should collect the dirt."

The second quadruplet nodded. He placed a bookmark into his assignment and grinned at his brother. "I've got a team to run. Your team is just a bunch of dudes running around and hitting on girls. Discipline is the last thing on your minds." He strode over to the buckets and looked inside. "That should be good enough, though next time, don't get moist earth. It doesn't work that well and gets very noticeable."

"Hey, hitting on women is an art." Ted rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue at his brother. "I don't see you practicing such an arduous skill. Discipline is the hallmark of flirting. You don't just say _anything_ , you know. And alright. I'll remember that next time I risk my handsome face for this family." Catching Iris's eyes, he winked, the cyan orbs playfully teasing her fuschia ones. She squeaked and threw her blanket fully over her head.

"You know, we look exactly the same.

"Pfft, you wish."

Laughing, Tommy waved asides the playful banter. His face took a serious tone, and he held out his hands. Over his forearms were the trademark vambraces worn by each of the Torques. These ones, of course, were colored cerulean. The structure itself was different: plates stacked and overlapped each other, unique in their appearance with what appeared to be even smaller plate-like structures that made up the plates. Think of sandpaper grit; now form those grits into tear shapes and tightly pack them together. That was the metal's appearance, a trademark of the titanium-zircon combination. The tear drops ran throughout the vambraces, particularly dense in a prominent trapezoidal tent-like structure, attached to his outer forearm, just a little above his wrist to his elbow joint.

Tommy closed his eyes, and Iris secretly watched his energy levels rise. Specks of rusty brown dotted his vambraces. Though this was about the sixth time she's seen it, it always fascinated her when the earthen particulates floated from the bucket in columns towards Tommy's hands and began to form a mirror image of his very features. First came the hand, molded together like clay, going so far as to exactly replicate the vambraces and its plating. From there, the arms extended outwards to the shoulders and chest, his shirt stitched meticulously together by microscopic grains. Then came the legs and shoes, and finally, the neck and head were formed.

Iris watched a drop of sweat roll down Tommy's forehead as he approached the final and most difficult step: the face. Precise imitation was difficult; too many details needed to be accounted. The nose rose from the clay, and his ears seemed to pop outwards like pimples, strands of his hair streaking out in cerulean lies. The eyes were formed last, and Earth-Tommy blinked, dirty brown at first, then gradually the proper blue colored filled itself in. One by one, teeth popped from his oral cavity, a tongue rising like a serpent in his mouth. Human-Tommy released his semblance to finish the cloning.

"Not again," he said and swayed in place. The doppelgänger caught his creator and helped him take a seat, smiling brightly.

"You did a great job, bud. Here," Earth-Tommy said, "drink some water." He offered out a glass. "I'll go check your pack for that Allorade. You need some electrolytes after attempting that trick." Rummaging through the bag, he found a bottle. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Human-Tommy replied. He gulped down the water greedily and uncapped the sports drink. Taking a deep swig, he sighed. "What went wrong this time? I had breakfast, and slept eight hours, and remained hydrated. I shouldn't be feeling weak."

"You're improving," was the answer. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Classes don't start for two hours so you've got time to rest. I'll get back to our dorm and get ready. You still haven't finished that assignment." He pointed to the bookmarked book. "I'll do that for you."

"Alright, thanks." Human-Tommy handed over the assignment. "You better go. The others should be awake by now."

"Right, hang in there." The two Tommys fist bumped, and the most recent one left the room. Upon his exit, Human- Tommy lay his head tiredly on the table, pale skin a ghostly contrast in the fluorescent light. Weakly, he sipped from the Allorade.

"That never ceases to freak me out," Ted commented after a few seconds. He was sitting on Drea's bed, scraping at the bottom of his shoes with dirty fingernails. "Seriously, it's cool and everything, but you are way too good at that. Forget embryonic research, IPS's and biomedical advancement; you can literally recreate yourself as you please."

"It's still just a clone," Tommy pointed out. "In terms of brainpower, yeah. He can do anything intellectual that I can do. But he can't fight as well. That's why I keep telling you to get the dry earth. Water ruins the image, and he can't use aura or semblance either. Not to mention the vambraces and clothing aren't actually metal and thread."

"I guess as long as it works," Ted conceded. "Long as the big guy gets time." He looked over to Tyson's bed where blankets and pillows were neatly stacked. The sheets were properly in place, and personal belongings were neatly stowed underneath. The Peregrines were hanging on several hooks suction-cupped to the wall, and the sniper-rifle-sheathe, Windfyre Finality, was displayed proudly on four pegs attached to a bulletin board. Dimitryus's map and an advertisement for a weapons-crafting club was pinned on the right.

"Ty-guy would be proud. We're pulling this off pretty well if I dare say so myself."

"We are." Tommy nodded approvingly. He took another sip from the Allorade. "All things considered, everything's working out. Knock on wood." Knuckles rapped on the table. "We need to get past today, and it's smooth sailing for another week or two." He made the motion with his hand. "I think of all the things we've done, this one's by far the luckiest to date. Knock on wood." _Knock knock_.

Ted nodded and checked his watch. His eyes widened as the youngest Torque bolted for the door, grabbing his gym bag on the way. "Oh crap oh crap! I totally forgot. I'm going to be sooo late. Ugh, I totally forgot. Okay okay, um, if any of the guys ask," Ted pointed to both Tommy and Iris, "say I was out uhhhh… hitting on uhhh… someone. Just name someone. They'll believe it." He fired his finger guns. "Catch you dudes later. And eat breakfast! You too, Iris!" Then with that, he zoomed out the room.

Iris's blush subsided again, and she turned her attention to Tommy. The teen's energy had built up during their conversation, and it was three-eighths full. From her last spying session, it should take him another twenty minutes or so to 'refill.' Hehe. Refill. It was like Tommy was an extra-large soda cup, and a waitress was filling him with chocolate milk. He'd be all _swish swish_ and chubby and jiggly. "Heehe," Iris giggled out loud. She quickly realized her mistake and clamped her hands over her mouth.

Unfortunately, Tommy heard.

"What's so funny?" he smiled slyly, the look so similar to Tyson's that Iris felt a complete reversal. Her laughter dissolved into worry so rapidly that Tommy jumped up to immediately apologize. "Oh dust, I am so sorry." He hovered over her protectively, _exactly_ like Tyson when he protected her from Eminence. To further drive the thorn deeper into her chest, indigo and cerulean were but a shade or two apart. "I didn't mean to," he apologized. "Gosh, I'm so sorry. I just… Look, it'll be okay. We'll get through this. He's going to be alright."

"B-b-b-but…" She looked up, tears filling her ocular wells. "W-w-what if he d-d-doesn't?" It's been a two weeks and a half! she wanted to scream. Two weeks and a half! "He should b-be awake by n-now!" She shoved her face into the crook of her arms. Involuntary sniffles escaped her, and she wondered why she was so lame as to cry over something that was out of her control. _'But is it?'_ her traitorous mind asked. _'It's your fault, isn't it? You killed the Grimm! You forced him to investigate! You didn't stop him! You didn't do_ anything! _'_

Gasping, Iris scuttled away from Tommy, feet sliding her till she was pressed flat against the wall, banging her head against the hard plaster. A shard of pain rocketed into her skull, ignored completely when she realized that it was most definitely her fault. "I-if I d-didn't k-kill it…" She trailed off, and Tommy vehemently shook his head.

"No," he said sternly. "Don't think like that. That is awful thinking. It's toxic. None of this is your fault. It's no one's fault, and if we really had to throw blame, it would not be you. Maybe we can blame Tyson for being so curious. Maybe we can blame Ozpin for having this test, but it is _not_ your fault. Do you understand?"

She shook her head. No she didn't understand. Not at all. This was _her_ fault.

"You didn't do anything, Iris. Trust me. You didn't do anything."

"B-but," Iris protested, and once more, she was shut down by Tommy. He lifted an eyebrow that was so depressingly _Tyson_ that Iris almost broke into tears. Only Auntie Neith's disapproving look in her mind stemmed the outpour. Iris sniffled and rubbed her hand over dry eyes, just in case. "O-Okay."

"Okay," Tommy repeated with a wider smile. "See? It's not your fault. We'll let Ted figure this out. He was always the best one at this." Groaning, the second oldest Torque stretched his sore his muscles and approached Tyson's bed. "Come on. Let's make sure he's okay."

Nod nod.

Inhaling deeply, she prepared herself. Together, the two removed the pillows and blankets from the bed. Iris called forth the Erumed Polygons, and with Tommy's strength, they lifted the mattress to reveal the hollow underbelly of the bed. There Tyson was situated, arms crossed over his chest, resting on his sleeping bag. The entire ensemble reminded her of a funeral casket.

White as an actual sheet of paper, Tyson's lips were drained of red. His skin was flaky, dry, and cracks were starting to form at the edge of his cheeks. Dark bags clumped under his eyes, and the indigo hair was now gray-blue. Arms and legs were shrunken like dehydrated prunes. The TIDE leader, who so earlier had charged into battle against fearsome Grimm, would now hardly be able to raise himself. Eyes closed, the young man slept as black tendrils covered his right hand and spiraled up his forearm. It was where the Lycan's tooth had pricked him, the black crawling like ants out from their burrows.

"It's gotten bigger," Iris said dejectedly. "I measured yesterday."

"Holy dust," Tommy breathed. "That's not good. I thought we were controlling it."

"No. Only slowing it down. It keeps going." She stared at the frown on Tyson's countenance. He was so annoyed, she could tell. Like really, he seemed to say. What the dust guys. "He's still cold. Needs heat. Slows the black."

"Can't light a fire," Tommy mused. "I could boil some water and place bowls of it in there. That still won't last though. None of us packed heat pads or chemical converters." He smacked his forehead. "Knew I was missing something."

Iris didn't say anything. She continued to stare at her partner. He would know what to do, she decided. Tyson would have a plan. He would figure out this mystery just like he promised he would figure out her mystery. But now that he was gone… she didn't know how to proceed. "Please wake up," she whispered. She leaned into the tomb. "Please. We need our leader. I… I need my friend."

From behind her, Tommy watched. He could feel the sadness clumped in his gut, but successfully ignored it. It was his job after all. Emotions got in the way of protection, and he couldn't afford to be sad when Iris was so distraught. Glancing at the clock over the door, he noticed he had about an hour and thirty left before class started. Nudging Iris, he said, "Let's leave him. He'll recover faster that way." Of course, that last part was a white lie. No one knew how fast he would recover; and, while he was loathe to think the very idea—no one knew if he _would_ recover.

Iris was not naive enough to buy his words, but in the end, she relented. Clutching the ribbon that hung from her neck, she sniffed one last time. Then, as Tommy removed Windfyre Finality from its display, holstered the two Peregrines into his— _Tyson's_ —combat pants, and shrugged off his cerulean-white-outlined shirt, she returned to her bed. Staring at her massive, starry night poster, one where the Remnant constellations were outlined and labeled, hanging partially on the ceiling and partially on the wall, she pulled out her phone. Snapping a picture of altäir, she sent the message to Auntie Neith. Then she placed her textbooks into her Erumed, recalling the polygons. When she finished, she turned around and observed as Tyson walked towards her.

Her heart twinged in sorrow.

"Ready?" Tommy said. He smoothed out the indigo strands on the wig and lightly pressed on the top of his eyelids so the contacts would not slip. Decked out in the elder's equipment, Tommy was a carbon copy. He stretched his cheeks out a few times, coughed, and gave her Tyson's _really?_ look. "Come on Iris," he droned sarcastically. "Maybe some time before sundown?"

Iris didn't trust herself to speak. She simply nodded.

Then the two left the room, leaving the real Tyson to slumber in his dreams.

* * *

Combat lessons were held in the amphitheater, led by Glynda Goodwitch. About a dozen teams were sitting in the stands, peppered with a few students unlucky enough to have a bad schedule. Ramses was sitting amongst the people, camouflaged as another normal teenager. He found Goodwitch was quite good at picking on those sitting higher up. So instead of being the cool kids, he'd convinced his teammates to be plebeians, if only to remain unnoticed. Checking his phone, he realized there was five minutes left till class officially started, and once again, Ted was going to be late.

"Third time this week," he whispered. "Third time. Dudes, we're going to run out of viable excuses at this rate. She's not going to buy another 'he's asking questions' excuse. And we'd already used the bathroom excuse. And the 'running to grab his things.' We can't keep this up. Where is that idiot?"

"He'll be here," Solaris said simply. The third member of their team smiled languidly and lay his head on the desk counter. He crossed his arms into an impromptu pillow and slowly unhinged his jaw, moving at a rate even sloths would deem preposterous. It took an absurd amount of time until his next sentence. "He always makes it. It's no use being so worried."

"Still," Ramses insisted, "he shouldn't be late. At all. He's the leader. He's supposed to be an example for us, not the other way around." Plus, he thought, it felt unnatural leading a team. He'd been acting captain for a few days now and really missed the wingman life. But a wingman couldn't be a wingman without his pilot, and this pilot had abandoned his ship.

Solaris shrugged carelessly. "I mean it's up to him," he said, running a hand through his copper-black hair. A few twine-like strands stuck to his fingers, shaken off with a quick flick. He fixed the black trenchcoat over his body. "As long as he makes it, we shouldn't be too worried. Besides, we all got the notes. We good, dudes." He pointed his nose towards Glynda who had just entered the amphitheater. "Tick tock, Ted-Man."

"I don't think it's the lateness that Ramses is talking about," said the last member of their team. This response came from a nasally voice to Solaris's right and accentuated by the thick, black-framed glasses on his nose. Hail anxiously fiddled with the edge of his binder and rapidly twirled his pen between his middle and index finger, a soft patter from left to right. "It's awfully hard to maintain our excuse on a consistent basis. Any scrupulous pedagogue—and no doubt Professor Goodwitch is of that caliber—would realize the repetition and inquire about his whereabouts more passionately than a passing onceover. We'll be caught between the wood and her riding crop, both of whom are undesirable in any circumstance. Besides, it's clear he's hiding something—lest we all disagree and conjecture differently."

"Nuuuuu, not big words," Solaris groaned extendedly. He banged his head against the wooden slab that was his writing surface and bleakly glared at Hail. Another groan escaped his lips, then swiftly died when Glynda began taking attendance. A particular female's name was called, his head snapping up to her, making eye contact with the blushing girl. Such an act did not escape Ramses's hawk-like attention. Solaris was swift to intercept him, "And yes, that was Yulianda. She and I had a good night the other night."

"Details," Ramses demanded in a whisper, "you gotta give us details. But later. We gotta think of what else to say to when Glynda calls Ted's name. We can't get him in trouble. What are we on—B's? Okay, we got time." He breathed out in relief. It was a good thing the Torques were so low on the alphabet. Ramses picked up his pencil and wrote a line. No. That one's weak. "Guys come on."

"Mhmm," Solaris hummed. "Food. Make it about food." After that nugget of wisdom, he promptly rolled his face over and reinitiated the sleep sequence. Hail sighed and turned a three-holed page, reading his notes from the other day. Solaris, somehow managing to sense this, reached his arm up without moving any other body part and poked his friend in the face. "Nerd."

"Go to bed," Hail said.

Solaris agreed and did as such a second later. Ramses rolled his eyes, another line of text added to his growing list. This one sounded genuine and defendable. Tapping his pencil on his chin, he continued to think. Hail was right; it was rather odd that Ted was absent for so many days. Every question they asked was deflected with some vague half-answer, most likely a half-truth. Ramses even knew about Ted's early morning excursions but never bothered to follow up on the investigation. What if it was about a girl? he'd thought. The bro code specifically forbade such blockage. Then again, when girls came up in the group, they always included the others. That's also what bros do. They look out for each other, and it seems that bro-leader-alpha was holding out on them. But what? Ramses scrunched up his eyebrows. What could it be if not a woman?

"Don't think to hard," Hail said. He could sense his friend's concentration from where he sat. "We'll request the information when he arrives, and I'm sure he'll tell us. We just need to ask." Another page turned. "And if he doesn't, as you most likely are engrossed on, then we sit him down to explicitly demand answers. He, as you've mentioned prior, is our leader. After all." The lightly tan student, carefully tailored under the Mistrallian sun, tapped his nose knowingly. "Everything will play out in our favor," he reassured. "We have but to abide by temporal laws."

"Wow," Ramses said, "I've never heard someone say 'We need to wait' in such a long winded manner before. You've got to teach me how to sound smart and sophisticated." In return, Hail smartly wiggled the bowtie around his neck, attached to a pristinely pressed white dress shirt collar.

"And if that fails," Hail continued from his previous topic, "we address his siblings. We ask Tommy." He flicked his head over to where Tommy sat with the rest of his team. "I believe that with such a reoccurring problem, we might unveil the answer—at most, attempt a solution."

"And if _that_ fails?" Ramses asked.

Hail smiled wryly. "We follow him."

"Great," Ramses rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I get to stalk my leader. Whoopie."

"Unsavory," Hail agreed. "But if it must be done, it must be done. Heads up. Your name's in two." He then bent his head back over his notes, intent on memorizing the facts before class started. While he could've done that last night, other things had occupied him; and by things, he meant women.

"Ramses Otimo?" Glynda called. Ramses raised his hand limply. The professor marked his presence and continued down the list. She was still quite some ways from Ted's name, but at this trajectory, there was almost no hope. Hail could see the frustration reflected in Ramses's posture. There was naught he could do to bolster his confidence. After all, there was a trend. One could not deny the trend.

Picking lint off the crease of his graphite gray dress pants, Hail shook his head disappointedly. Flat, white hair bounced to and fro, hands smoothing out his matching waistcoat. He knew what came next: he would read another page, Ramses would muster in his imagination some half-decent excuse, Solaris would sleep, and Goodwitch would continue to call names until she finally reached the Torques. Then she would call Ted, there would be silence; she would call Tommy, she'll get a response, and then five seconds later, she would say:

"Team TRSH! What excuse will you provide me today for your leader's absence?"

Right on time.

"Aliens?" Ramses offered. He garnered a few barks of laughter, but it had no effect on the teacher. "Um, sorry professor, that was out of hand." Ramses chuckled, managing the sticky situation. "Our leader's going to be late because he hadn't had breakfast this morning. He texted and said he went to grab some food from the dining hall."

"The dining hall closes at the start of class. He's pushing it."

"Well, you know him. Quite daring. I'm sure some of the girls here can attest to that."

Indeed they could, if the rosy red faces were anything short of evidence. Even team RWBY's Weiss Schnee was beet-colored, the rosy glow of discomfiture a harkening to that now-more-or-less public relationship between the two wealthy aristocrats. "He's just hungry, professor," Ramses explained. "I'm sure you can cut him some slack?" He added a winning smile, just in case. Unfortunately, Goodwitch was not affected by his boyish shenanigans.

"That's three times, Mr. Otimo. _Three_. You can tell your leader to meet Headmaster Ozpim and I personally after classes. We'll decide his punishment then." She clicked her tongue. "You might also consider an intervention. You, and perhaps his siblings." She made eye contact with Tommy who just grinned sheepishly. "There is correlation between missing classes and failing them—and believe me: it takes a lot more effort to file the paperwork."

"Yes ma'am," Ramses replied gloomily. He glanced towards the doors.

Whatever Ted was up to—it better be worth it.

* * *

Like his siblings, Ted was also trained to be punctual, but on certain occasions, he could afford to be lax—though today wasn't one of those occasions. Today, he was making a sacrifice, a sacrifice that he took on given the dire circumstances. While the probability was miniscule, it was still present. If Tyson taught him anything about chance, it was that one should never take it, given the ability to negate that chance. So he ran back to his room, checked on the _thing_ , and proceeded to grab lunch, per Ramses's text. Half of the sandwich was gone before he decided it was time to go. Room 146 slammed behind him, and he bolted down the hallway.

It still had to look real.

Not a soul on his team knew he hid the thing right outside their room, in a carved out crook of the tall oak that bordered their window. It was sealed in an airtight cube, carbon-zircon lined, mesa-plastic shelled, and white-gray dust shielded. The cube originally belonged to Tommy who'd packed it in case they came in contact with volatile substances. All things considered, the thing was the most volatile object they've come in contact with. It was starting to become a pattern, hiding things in trees, but Ted found that it was better to keep something in plain sight. Simultaneously, it was covered from other eyes; their room being a corner room with no others to flank them. Ozpin was begging for things to be hidden from him.

Just to help the image, Ted pumped his arms, swung his lunch bag, and maintained high-knees as he ran for the amphitheater. He snapped his pack's strap buckle around his waist, disregarding the absolute nerdy look he had going; the food, the panicstricken hurry, and the notebook and pencils in the other arm. A few onlookers cried out his name, one with a particularly teasing "Run Torque, run!" He ignored them, intent on arriving somewhat out of breath and maybe even sweaty. "It's not even tooting my own horn," he murmured to himself, skidding around a corner, "I'm in great shape." And don't the ladies love it. Can he get an amen?

Amen!

The amphitheater's double doors came into view, and Ted bent himself over, compressing his lungs and gut, forcing his body to wear down. He could feel that burning inside his chest, his breath coming out in torn rags, when he slammed into the ornately decorated wood and burst into the the grand arena. "W-woah!" he yelped, "I'm here! I'm here!" Then he crashed into the raised stage, bounced off, and landed in a heap of pens, pencils, apples—of which there was three—ham, lettuce, and tomatoes, not to mention his backpack—which somehow managed to come unzipped. It may or may not have something to do with it already being halfway undone on the run in.

"Orhghh," Ted groaned from the floor. Tilting his eyes up, he was met with the emerald fire of the livid Professor Goodwitch. The Torque couldn't help but crack a cocky grin; the teacher looked quite foxy behind those lens. "Oh heeyyy," he drawled. "Professor. How's it going?"

"You're late."

"Yeah, I kinda figured." Laughing casually, Ted heaved himself to his feet, releasing a heavy breath. The boy began to tidy the mess he made, ignoring the visible mass of adult fury lurking overhead. He was so blatantly ignorant in that moment that Glynda found herself momentarily looking at Zion's infuriating attitude, the one that had gotten him into trouble so many times in the past, the same one that would invoke punishment and ire. Ted even dared to smirk up at her, such that the lamb knowingly waltzed into the lion's den.

She was rather impressed.

He'll get one chance.

"Mister Torque, tell me: why have you arrived late today?"

"I was hungry. Thought I'd grab some grub then hustle into class. I did hustle, right?"

Ted pointedly looked around at the mess he caused.

That was a mistake.

"Oh he's so dead," Ramses facepalmed.

"Totally," Hail nodded.

" _Mister Torque_!" Glynda Goodwitch snapped, rearing to her full height. She towered several good inches above the impish boy. "This is the _very last time_ that you will arrive late to my class—or _any class_ —ever again! Do I make myself clear, _boy_?" The witch's hair flew out behind her as the riding crop whistled through the air, creating an ear-shattering _crack!_

Ted flinched, pivoting away from it. "I do not _care_ if your father is Zion! I do not _care_ if you are wealthy! I do not _care_ that you are a Torque! So much as disobey your teachers one more time, so much as arrive _late_ , and I will personally have you _expelled_ from this school. Do I make myself _clear_?"

Ted gulped at the suddenly terrifying change in Goodwitch's demeanor, and even though he could technically remain that rebellious teenager that all adults expected kids of his age to be, he relented, for while sacrifice is good, too much is still too much. His hands shot into the air in surrender.

"Crystal."

"Now I suggest you place down your bags and apologize to your classmates. You'll be leading the lesson today. In person." She swiped a finger on her tablet and two lottery wheels appeared on the screen. On the left, his name was manually entered. On the right, it was blank. Ted contorted his face to hide his triumphant smirk. Those were dueling wheels, and Glynda had activated his trap card.

"Since Mister Torque deems himself above my lessons, he shall be the first contestant in today's sparring contest." She addressed the crowd sternly. "Does anyone want to volunteer to be his partner?" Her eyes dared people to answer. Wisely, no one did. "That's what I thought." With another swipe, the wheel started to spin. As it did, Ted solemnly, with his head bent, walked up the steps to his friends.

In his periphery, he caught Tommy's three-fingered wave, the agreed upon sign that differentiated Earth-Tommy from Human-Tommy. The corner of his lips twitched, yet his eyes betrayed him. If Glynda could see, she would notice the amusement dancing on his face. Playing the part of the whipped puppy, he uttered a few apologies to anyone around who wanted to listen. Whispered insults and jokes flew his way, all of which he ignored. A tense silence settled over the students.

Ted caught Earth-Tommy's eyes. _'Thanks,'_ they seemed to say. He just blinked in response. Quietly placing his things down, he proceeded down the steps. Tyson always warned them about Murphy's law, the consequences of which could shatter everything they worked for this past two weeks and a half. So it had to be prevented. What did Tommy say? Water didn't mix with the image? Exactly.

No one was going to spar the doppelganger.

Mission accomplished.


End file.
